[See  p.  48 
SEFTON    WOODS    WALKED    BESIDE    HER 


O  PA 


BESSIE    R.   HOOVER 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

HARPER  6-  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

MCMX 


Copyright.  1910,  by  HARPBR  &  BROTHERS 
Published  October,  1910 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  OPAL'S  GLIMPSE  OF  EDEN i 

II.  A  GRADUATED  DAUGHTER 35 

III.  WILLIE'S  UPLIFT 57 

IV.  TUGGIN'  TO  BE  GENTEEL 82 

V.  ALL  FOR  NOTHING 115 

VI.  JED'S  JONATHAN 139 

VII.  BUTCH  AND  THE  WANDERLUST 164 

VIII.  OPAL'S  OUTING 189 

IX.  FLOWER  IN  BLOOM 219 

X.  Mis'  Hi  LUNDY'S  SCHOOL 243 

XI.  PA,  THE  DIPLOMAT 271 

XII.  MYRTLE  AND  FORGET-ME-NOT 300 


2136518 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


SEPTON    WOODS    WALKED   BESIDE    HER    ....        Frontispiece 

"NOTHIN*  WOODSY    ABOUT    THAT    DRESS,"    DE- 
CLARED MA Facmgp.      86 

"STORY-BOOK  ENDIN'!"  SHOUTED  PA    ....      "       290 
BUT  JULE,  WITH   SOLEMN  IMPORTANCE,  PUSHED 
THE  PROTESTING  TWINS  TOWARD  THE  MIN- 
ISTER       "         326 


OPAL 


OPAL 


i 

OPAL'S    GLIMPSE    OF    EDEN 

ON  a  warm  May  afternoon  the  strip  of  lawn 
in  front  of  the  Flickinger  home  on  Pine 
Street,  in  the  suburbs,  was  turning  to  a 
ribbon  of  green  velvet.     And  the  poplar  shade- 
trees  kept  up  a  gentle  patter  of  leafy  gossip  that 
was  interrupted  by  loud  voices  in  the  kitchen, 
where  Opal  Flickinger  and  her  brother  Jed  were 
in  angry  discussion  with  their  sister  Mandy's  bo}', 
Little  Butch  Fanner. 

The  Flickingers  lived  in  a  small,  neatly  painted 
house  on  the  corner  of  Pine  Street  and  Bistle 
Avenue,  in  a  new  residence  part  of  the  town. 
Their  home  was  like  dozens  of  other  homes  that 
had  been  sold  on  the  instalment  plan.  The 
houses  were  only  a  few  feet  apart,  with  a  little 
plot  of  green  in  front  and  a  longer  strip  in  the 


OPAL 

back.  There  were  cement  walks ;  and  the  trimly 
kept  tree-lawns  were  punctuated  at  regular  dis- 
tances by  rapidly  growing  trees,  which  had  been 
planted  cheaply  by  the  real-estate  men  when  the 
street  was  opened,  so  that  they  might  assure 
prospective  buyers  that  there  was  plenty  of  shade 
on  Pine  Street.  There  were  no  pines  on  this 
thoroughfare  of  poor  men's  homes,  but,  perhaps, 
the  name  was  given  in  the  spirit  of  creative  as- 
sertion. 

"Opal,  what  are  you  and  Jed  and  Butch  a- 
makin'  all  that  noise  in  my  kitchen  for?"  de- 
manded Ma  Flickinger  in  an  exasperated  voice 
from  the  sitting-room.  She  was  a  worried- 
looking  woman,  dressed  in  faded  calico,  with 
gray-streaked  hair  strained  tightly  back  from  a 
thin  face  into  a  small  knot  at  the  nape  of  her  neck. 

"Because  Butch  says  he's  going  after  flowers 
with  us,"  answered  Opal,  bursting  into  the  sit- 
ting-room, her  cheeks  red  with  excitement,  "and 
he  isn't.  We  won't  have  him  along!"  Opal 
wore  a  plain  white  dress,  and  her  soft  brown  hair 
was  becomingly  arranged;  about  her  neck  was 
a  string  of  coral-colored  beads. 

"I'd  ruther,  Opal,  that  none  of  you  young  ones 
would  go  tearin'  off  to  the  woods  like  a  passel  of 
feather-heads,"  complained  her  mother. 


OPAL 

"I  dunno  as  they  be  young  ones — Opal's  over 
eighteen,  and  Jed's  old  enough  to  vote,"  grump- 
ily put  in  Pa  Flickinger,  who  was  lying  on  the 
sitting-room  lounge,  for  it  was  Sunday  afternoon. 
Finding  it  impossible  to  sleep  in  such  a  clamor, 
he  gloomily  folded  the  newspaper  that  had  cov- 
ered his  face. 

"Nobody  asked  Butch,  and  he  ain't  goin'," 
stated  his  son  Jed  with  angry  authority,  coming 
into  the  room  to  argue.  Jed  was  tall  and  un- 
gainly, with  blunt  features  and  awkward  man- 
ners. 

"Butch  is  your  nephew,  Jed,  and  he's  visitin' 
you,  so  it  wouldn't  look  decent  not  to  take  him 
if  he  wants  to  go,"  reproved  his  mother. 

"Visitin'!"  shouted  Jed.  "Butch's  over  here 
every  blamed  day  of  his  life." 

Clarence  Fanner,  commonly  called  Little 
Butch,  to  distinguish  him  from  his  father,  Big 
Butch  Fanner,  was  about  fourteen  years  old ;  he 
was  a  spoiled  child,  and  might  well  have  been 
described  as  the  Original  Wild  Boy. 

"I  don't  want  Butch  hangin'  'round  here," 
observed  Pa.  "I'm  plannin'  for  a  nap." 

"If  he  stays  here  there  '11  be  a  rumpus  a-goin' 
all  the  afternoon,  and  I  kinder  wanted  to  take 
a  nap  myself,"  added  Ma. 
3 


OPAL 

"There  '11  be  a  rumpus  all  right,  all  right,  if 
I  can't  go,"  promised  Butch,  sulkily. 

"And  he'll  raise  a  rumpus  if  he  goes,"  cried 
Jed,  indignantly;  "besides,  Seftie  Woods  ain't 
used  to  such  kids." 

"If  Seftie  Woods  was  ashamed  of  my  relations 
I'd  drop  him  for  a  chum,"  advised  Ma,  sharply. 

"Make  Butch  stay  here,  Ma,"  petitioned  Opal. 
"Nobody  wants  him  along." 

"Opal,  what's  got  into  you  to  be  ashamed  of 
your  own  folks  ?  Since  you  graduated  from  that 
high  school  you've  been  too  finicky  to  live.  I 
dunno  why  Butch  shouldn't  go.  What  say,  Pa  ?" 
asked  Ma,  shifting  the  responsibility. 

"Butch  goes,"  stated  Pa,  conclusively. 

"Aw,  thunder!"  dissented  Jed. 

"I  shouldn't  think  Butch  would  want  to  go 
when  nobody  wanted  him  along,"  said  Opal, 
pointedly. 

"Who's  goin'  where?"  demanded  a  sharp  voice 
outside,  and  Jule  Peebles,  one  of  Opal's  married 
sisters,  came  noisily  in.  She  wore  a  taggy,  faded 
blue  suit  that  dragged  a  dusty  hem  in  the  back 
and  was  four  inches  too  short  in  front.  Her  hat 
was  an  old  red  felt  with  an  aggressive  upward 
slant  that  threw  her  bold  face  into  prominent 
relief.  Closely  following  were  Janice  and  Jasper, 
4 


OPAL 

her  twin  children.  The  twins  had  never  been 
to  school,  but  their  grandfather,  always  called 
"Grandpaw  Peebles"  by  the  family,  was  teach- 
ing them  their  letters. 

"What's  the  sense  in  always  dressin'  them  two 
young  ones  alike  ?"  began  Ma  Flickinger,  without 
any  other  greeting. 

"What's  the  use  of  havin'  twins  if  nobody 
knows  it?"  asked  Jule,  pushing  first  one  child 
and  then  the  other  on  to  chairs  and  then  throw- 
ing herself  into  a  rocker.  "Their  bein'  dressed 
in  blue  sailor  suits  as  near  alike  as  boy  and  girl 
can  be  gives  a  kinder  cute  effect,  to  my  mind." 

"It's  a  kinder  Siamese-twins  effect,  if  you 
want  my  opinion,"  disapproved  Ma. 

"I  dunno  as  there's  any  harm  in  that,"  sniffed 
Jule. 

"No  harm — only,"  added  Ma,  reflectively,  "it 
don't  look  bright." 

"It  suits  me,  anyway,"  contended  Jule,  stub- 
bornly. "And  say,  folks,  who's  goin'  some- 
where?" 

' '  We're  going  out  in  the  country  after  flowers," 
Opal  enlightened  her  sister. 

"Aw!"  ejaculated  Jule,  loftily,  "that  ain't 
much  of  a  place  to  go  to.  Who's  goin'  with 
you?" 

5 


OPAL 

"Seftie  Woods  and  some  of  the  other  kids," 
informed  her  brother  Jed. 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock.  "Good-after- 
noon" was  Ma's  stiff,  unsmiling  greeting,  as  she 
opened  the  door  to  Sefton  Woods.  "Come  in — 
set  down.  How's  your  Ma?" 

"Mother's  well,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Flickinger," 
returned  the  young  man,  who  was  carrying  a 
large  bouquet  of  narcissus,  which  he  handed  to 
Opal,  who,  rising  hastily,  dropped  the  book  that 
was  in  her  lap. 

"Opal,  what's  got  into  you?"  snapped  her 
mother.  "You're  gettin'  more  heedless  every 
day." 

Sefton  Woods  had  not  spoken  to  Opal  except  as 
he  greeted  them  all  in  a  general  way;  but  as  he 
gave  her  the  flowers  he  said:  "For  you."  And 
Ma,  seeing  the  look  that  passed  between  them, 
cried  sharply,  "Opal,  pick  up  that  book." 

Jed  grinned  sympathetically  at  Sefton.  And 
the  twins,  awed  at  first  into  a  stony  repose  by  the 
advent  of  a  stranger,  began  with  busy,  surrepti- 
tious fingers  to  pick  at  a  tiny  tear  in  the  wall- 
paper; while  Jule  stared  frankly  at  Sefton 
Woods  as  he  took  a  chair  near  Opal,  and  her 
sharp  eyes  observed  every  detail  of  his  person, 
the  color  and  texture  of  his  clothes,  which  pleased 
6 


OPAL 

her  in  a  vague  way  without  her  knowing  why, 
his  smooth,  well-shaped  hands,  the  careless  waves 
of  his  almost  black  hair,  the  captivating  glint  in 
his  dark  eyes,  and  his  comely  face,  in  which 
strength  and  generosity  were  combined.  And 
the  more  she  admired  the  boy  the  more  resent- 
fully she  looked  at  him,  and  the  more  she  be- 
grudged her  sister  Opal  such  a  friend.  For  Jule, 
who  had  been  married  at  fourteen,  was  no  older 
than  Sefton  Woods  herself.  And  her  longing  for 
the  forfeited  pleasures  of  youth  was  often  bitter 
in  its  intenseness. 

"I  fear  I've  interrupted  your  nap,  Mr.  Flick- 
inger,"  said  Sefton. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  returned  Pa,  geni- 
ally. 

Though  Sefton  was  as  good-looking  and  self- 
possessed  as  Jed  was  homely  and  awkward,  yet 
they  were  great  friends.  It  was  Sefton  who, 
some  years  before,  had  encouraged  Jed  to  leave 
the  factory  and  go  to  the  Agricultural  College. 
Now  Jed  was  actually  farming,  having  rented 
land  near  his  friend's  home. 

' '  Let's  start, ' '  proposed  Jed ;  ' '  everybody  but 
Butch." 

"Let's  take  Butch  along  to  scare  snakes," 
suggested  Sefton,  good-naturedly. 
7 


OPAL 

"But  if  Butch  scares  us  girls  with  the  snakes 
it  '11  be  different,"  warned  Opal. 

"Go  on — and  stop  your  croakin',"  ordered 
their  father. 

"And,  Butch,  behave  yourself,  or  I'll  git  your 
Pa  to  lick  you,"  threatened  his  grandmother. 

"I  ain't  no  baby,"  grumbled  Butch,  following 
the  others  out. 

"Opal,"  yelled  her  mother  from  the  porch, 
"are  you  a-goin'  off  like  this  in  broad  daylight 
with  three  boys?" 

"Fern  Bistle  and  Fairy  Jones  are  going,  too," 
said  Opal. 

"And  so's  Willie  Briggs,"  added  Butch.  "Wil- 
lie, he  thinks  he's  Opal's  feller." 

"Shut  up  about  fellers,"  snapped  Ma.  "And, 
Opal,  come  home  early.  A-drabblin'  your  white 
skirts  in  the  dew  '11  grit  and  green  'em  all  up. 
And,  Jed,  have  a  little  respect  for  your  best 
shoes,  and  keep  out  of  all  prickers.  .  .  . 

"I  wondered  what  made  Jed  so  keen  to  go  after 
flowers,"  Ma  told  Jule  and  Pa  when  she  came  into 
the  house;  "it's  'cause  Fern  Bistle's  goin'.  I 
dunno  what  he  sees  in  that  flossy-headed  doll." 

"She's  kinder  pretty,  to  my  mind,"  admitted 
Pa. 

"So's  Opal's  old  doll  pretty— but  what's  she 
8 


OPAL 

got  in  her  head  ?  And  I  don't  like  the  way  that 
there  Woods  boy  is  a-shinin'  up  to  Opal  lately. 
I'll  have  to  break  it  up." 

"Break  up  nothin',"  protested  Pa.  "Sef tie's 
a  decent  lad." 

"And  he's  got  a  red-wheeled  horse  and  bug- 
gy," contributed  Jule,  glumly. 

"Sef tie's  good  enough,  I  suppose,  but  I  want 
Opal  to  teach  school  and  be  somebody,  now  we've 
educated  her,"  declared  Ma. 

"Jasper  and  Janice,  both  of  youse  stop  pullin' 
at  my  dress.  What  do  you  want?"  demanded 
Jule,  crossly. 

"Mebbe  they're  a-hintin'  for  cookies,"  said 
Ma  with  ready  hospitality. 

"It  'd  be  jest  like  'em,"  admitted  Jule;  "but 
I've  told  'em  a  hundred  times  that  it  ain't  pretty 
for  'em  to  tease  for  somethin'  to  eat  away  from 
home.  Besides,  they  et  everything  they  could 
lay  their  paws  on  afore  they  left  the  house. 
Grandpaw  always  says,  'Feed  'em,  Mrs.  Peebles, 
feed  'em  so  they'll  grow  up  strong  and  healthy.' " 

"That's  what  I  say,"  echoed  Ma,  already  on 
her  way  to  the  pantry.  "Here's  some  nice 
cookies  that  your  Aunt  Opal  baked,"  she  said 
to  the  twins  on  her  return.  "It  beats  all  what 
good  things  Opal  can  make." 
9 


OPAL 

"Don't  I  git  none?"  demanded  Pa  from  the 
lounge,  for  he  had  not  yet  gone  to  sleep. 

"One,"  grudged  Ma;  "they  was  baked  ex- 
pressly for  your  dinner-pail,  and  I  don't  want 
'em  all  chawed  up  aforehand.  Jule,  you  sample 
one,  too.  And  I  suppose  Butch  '11  pester  the 
life  out'n  them  girls.  I  dunno  as  we  oughter  let 
him  went,"  worried  Ma. 

"He  won't  do  no  more  harm  out'n  the  woods 
than  he  would  here,"  stated  Pa,  philosophically. 

"I  dunno  whatever's  goin'  to  come  to  little 
Butch,  anyway,"  sighed  his  grandmother. 

"He's  as  big  as  a  man,  and  yit  no  manners," 
criticised  Jule. 

"I'm  afraid  that  Butch  '11  end  up  sommers 
that  ain't  so  nice  for  him  nor  his  folks,  neither," 
prophesied  Ma,  gloomily. 

"Well,  I  know  this — that  I  ain't  goin'  to 
bother  my  head  about  him,"  declared  his  grand- 
father, easily;  "it's  a  burden  his  folks  ought 
rightly  to  tote.  His  mother  made  a  fool  of  him 
when  his  father  was  in  Klondike — that's  what's 
the  matter  with  Butch." 

"And  Mandy  done  it  'cause  she's  easy,  jest 
like  you  be,  Pa,"  retorted  his  wife. 

"Jasper,  stop  crumblin'  cookies  all  over  your 
blouse.  If  you  can't  eat  like  a  human  bein', 


OPAL 

cut  it  out.  Only  monkeys  and  chickens  act 
the  way  you  do." 

"And  it  makes  me  kinder  uneasy  to  have  Opal 
go  off  with  Fern  Bistle,  'cause  she's  such  a 
feather-head,"  complained  Ma.  "I  don't  want 
Fern  to  put  any  fool  idees  into  Opal's  head  about 
havin'  beaus;  and  all  Fern  talks  about  now  is 
St.  Joe  and  Silver  Beach.  We've  educated  Opal, 
and  now  I  want  her  to  teach  and  use  her  educa- 
tion. And  I  can't  help  but  worry  for  fear 
somethin's  goin'  to  happen  to  Opal  to-day.  I 
don't  like  to  have  her  go  tearin'  off  to  the  woods 
with  a  passel  of  feather-heads." 

"Nothin'  ain't  goin'  to  happen,"  soothed  Pa, 
"except  they'll  git  scratched  up  with  briers,  git 
muddy  shoes,  see  a  snake,  probably,  and  pick  a 
fistful  of  flowers  that  '11  be  nothin'  but  wilted 
sticks  long  afore  they're  home.  It  don't  take 
an  Egypty  mummy,  Ma,  to  tell  what  them 
kids  '11  do." 

"I  dunno  why  Opal's  any  more  than  the  rest 
of  us  children,"  broke  in  Jule,  petulantly,  "that 
she's  gotta  have  all  this  fuss  made  over  her." 

"'Cause  she's  a  young  lady — now,"  stated 
her  mother,  briefly. 

"Nobody  ever  tried  to  push  me  through  the 
grades,  let  alone  draggin'  me  through  high 


OPAL 

school,  or  I  wouldn't  be  tied  down  hand  and  foot 
now  with  these  young  ones,"  Jule  complained. 

"As  if  anybody  on  earth  could  have  kept  you 
from  marryin'  Milo  Peebles,"  cried  her  mother, 
exasperated.  "Your  mind  was  sot  on  it  from 
the  first,  and  I  never  did  think  Milo  was  to 
blame,  'cause  he  was  so  wishy-washy  that  he'd 
never  ast  anybody  to  marry  him  of  his  own  free 
will.  But  Seftie  Woods  is  different;  he's  one 
of  these  here  smooth-spoken,  talkative  young 
snippers  who's  always  a-gettin'  married  young." 

"I  never  saw  that  Opal  was  so  keen  to  teach," 
observed  Jule.  "But  I  know  this — she  has  a 
good  deal  better  time  than  I  used  to.  She  can 
go  gallivantin'  off,  nobody  knows  where,  with 
swell  fellers  like  Seftie  Woods;  but  I  have  to 
stay  to  home  and  work  myself  to  death  over 
Milo  and  these  two  young  ones.  When  do  I  ever 
git  time  to  go  anywhere,  even  if  I  had  any  place 
to  go  to?" 

"But  you've  got  the  twinses,  think  of  that, 
Jule,"  reminded  her  mother.  "You're  well  off." 

"Yes,  you  can  say  that,  'cause  you  only  see 
the  twinses  occasionally  when  they're  slicked  up 
and  on  their  good  behavior;  it  'd  be  different 
if  they  pestered  the  life  out'n  you  from  mornin' 
till  night." 

12 


OPAL 

"But  you've  got  Grandpaw  Peebles  to  help 
you  out  with  the  twinses — ain't  you  thankful 
for  that?"  inquired  Ma. 

"Who's  said  anything  ag'in  Grandpaw?" 
cried  Jule;  "if  it  wa'n't  for  Grandpaw  Peebles  I 
guess  I'd  give  up  entirely,"  she  ended,  miserably. 

"But  there's  Milo,"  reminded  Ma;  "a  better 
little  man  never  drawed  breath." 

"And  that's  about  all  he  does  do,"  grumbled 
Jule.  "And,  Ma,  you  can  tell  Opal  to  come  over 
to  my  house  Monday,  if  she's  goin'  to  make  some 
new  clothes  for  the  twinses,  like  she  promised. 
I  never  git  no  time  to  sew,  even  if  I  knowed 
how." 

"I'll  tell  Opal;  but  she  can't  come  over  the 
first  of  the  week,  'cause  she's  gotta  finish  some 
work  for  Mandy  first." 

"Gramma,"  Janice  ventured  to  say. 

"Gramma,"  echoed  Jasper,  wistfully. 

"No,"  frowned  Jule,  sternly,  "shut  yourselves 
right  up;  you  know  what  I  told  you  afore  I 
fetched  you  over  here — no  fool  questions." 

"How  dauby  their  clothes  look,"  criticised 
Ma  Flickinger.  "Whatever  have  they  gaumed 
theirselves  up  with?" 

"Everything  goin',"  accused  Jule,  bitterly. 
"Both  of  you  young  ones  stand  up.  Shake 
2  13 


OPAL 

yourselves.  Set  down.  Now  keep  still  and  be- 
have yourselves." 

"Gramma,"  piped  Janice,  plaintively,  "can 
me  and  Japper — " 

But  Jule  cut  her  daughter  short  with  a  stamp 
of  the  foot  and  a  frown.  "Both  of  you  young 
ones  promised  to  keep  yourselves  shut  up  if 
I'd  let  you  come  along  with  me.  But  you  can 
see,  Ma,  how  much  a  promise  out'n  them  amounts 
to.  I  can't  take  no  comfort  in  goin'  nowhere 
with  'em.  And  I  guess  we'd  better  be  movin' 
on,  anyway, .  seein'  they're  beginnin'  to  act 
like  tunket." 

"What's  your  hurry?"  asked  Ma,  politely; 
while  Pa  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  began  to  un- 
fold his  newspaper. 

"I  wasn't  comin'  here,  anyway,"  said  Jule. 
"I  jest  stopped  in  on  my  way  to  Sophie's. 
And  I  hope  to  goodness  that  my  brother  Billie 
won't  be  there,  'cause  he  always  has  it  in  for 
me.  And  now  neither  of  you  young  ones  wants 
to  even  hint  for  anything  to  eat  over  there,  or 
your  Aunt  Sophie  '11  be  feedin'  you  ag'in.  Say 
good-bye  to  your  grandpa  and  come  on." 

"Bye-bye,"  grunted  Pa  Flickinger  in  answer 
to  the  twins'  perfunctory  farewell.  "And  now, 
if  nothin'  more  interferes,"  he  added  in  a  weary 
14 


OPAL 

martyr's  voice,  as  he  spread  the  newspaper  over 
his  face,  "I'm  a-goin'  to  take  my  nap." 

"Why  ain't  you  been  a-takin'  it  instead  of 
blabbin'  away  all  this  time?"  asked  Ma,  shortly. 

As  Jule  went  out  of  the  back  door  on  her  way 
to  call  on  Sophie,  who  lived  in  the  next  house, 
she  saw  Opal  and  the  boys  waiting  on  the  side- 
walk in  front  of  Fern  Bistle's  home  on  Bistle 
Avenue;  for  Fern  was  not  yet  ready. 

"Good-bye,  Jule,"  called  Opal,  pleasantly. 

"Aw,  I  dunno!"  retorted  Jule,  pertly. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Jule?"  cried  Opal. 

But  Jule  bounced  into  her  brother  Billie's 
back  door  without  answering. 

"Jule's  always  gotta  grouch,"  declared  Jed. 
"And  she  don't  know  herself  what's  the  matter 
with  her." 

Fern  Bistle's  home,  which  was  the  first  house 
back  of  Flickinger's  on  Bistle  Avenue,  was  a 
large  house  bulging  with  bay  windows  and 
painted  a  variety  of  colors.  But  it  was  not  built 
on  the  same  plan  as  the  instalment  houses ;  for 
Mr.  Bistle  himself  was  the  instalment  man,  and 
he  had  made  considerable  money  putting  up 
cheap,  inconvenient  houses  on  lots  that  he  could 
not  otherwise  have  sold. 

Fern  always  required  a  long  time  to  dress, 


OPAL 

because  she  was  so  artificially  and  wonderfully 
gotten  up.  She  was  about  Opal's  age,  but 
looked  older.  When  at  last  she  joined  Opal 
and  the  boys,  her  fluffy  pompadour  hung  its 
golden  floss  over  one  eye,  and  large  brass  combs 
held  the  fuzzy  tags  0f  her  bleached  hair.  Her 
eyebrows  were  suspiciously  dark  and  arched, 
and  her  cheeks  were  suspiciously  red  and  white. 
An  immense  hat  was  riveted  on  with  half  a  dozen 
gaudy  pins.  A  glittering  belt  outlined  her  very 
small  waist. 

Sefton  Woods  scowled  involuntarily  as  he 
caught  sight  of  her  carefully  prepared  complex- 
ion; but  to  Jed  Flickinger,  who  was  much  less 
sophisticated,  she  was  fascination  itself;  and 
he  was  enchanted  with  her  sweet,  careless  smile 
of  greeting. 

"You  come  down  from  the  farm  jest  to  walk 
back  with  us,  didn't  you,  Sefton?"  inquired 
Fern.  "Ain't  that  lovely?"  And  she  crowded 
between  Sefton  and  Opal,  so  that  Opal  was 
obliged  to  step  back  and  walk  with  Jed. 

"I  didn't  have  anything  else  to  do,"  said 
Sefton  Woods,  awkwardly  for  him. 

Around  the  nearest  corner,  panting  for  breath, 
came  Fairy  Jones.  She  was  at  least  fifteen  years 
old,  and  large  for  her  age ;  but  her  blue  gingham 
16 


OPAL 

dress  was  far  above  her  shoe-tops.  She  wore  a 
purple  woollen  cap  over  her  fire-red  hair,  which 
hung  in  crinkly  tangles  down  her  back. 

"Oh,  land!"  burst  out  Fairy  Jones,  dis- 
gustedly, "is  that  there  Butch  a-goin'?" 

"I'm  jest  as  good  as  you  be,  Old  Miss  Red- 
head," returned  Butch,  touchily. 

"Oh,  Butchie,  don't  begin  to  quarrel  with 
Fairy,"  begged  Opal,  unwilling  that  Sefton 
Woods  should  see  how  disagreeable  Butch  could 
be. 

"I  wouldn't  quarrel  wither,"  retorted  Butch, 
sneeringly.  "I  wouldn't  say  'boo'  to  a  red-head. 
What  'd  you  take  me  for?" 

' '  How  many  more  kids  are  goin'  to  tag  along  ?" 
questioned  Fern. 

"I'm  older  than  Butch,"  defended  Fairy, 
angry  because  Fern  considered  her  a  child. 
Fairy  Jones  sighed  for  long  skirts  and  adored 
pompadours ;  but  her  mother  said  she  was  going 
to  keep  Fairy  a  little  girl  just  as  long  as  possible. 
"A-linkin'  arms  in  broad  daylight,"  sniffed  Fairy 
to  Opal,  as  Fern  hung  uninvited  on  Sefton's  arm. 

"I  thought  Briggs  was  going,"  remarked 
Sefton,  turning  to  Opal. 

"There  he  is  now,"  answered  Opal,  though 
without  enthusiasm,  as  Willie  Briggs  came  down 
17 


OPAL 

the  steps  of  a  neat  white  cottage.  His  immacu- 
late collar  and  cuffs  were  broadly  in  evidence ;  he 
wore  a  new  gray  suit;  and  the  freckles  on  his 
fat,  rosy  cheeks  shone  like  burnished  stars.  As 
a  boy  Willie  had  been  undersized;  but  he  had 
blossomed  forth,  as  in  a  single  night,  into  a  six- 
foot  giant. 

Willie  Briggs  took  himself  seriously;  and  his 
one  object  in  life  was  to  be  a  perfect  man.  He 
had  always  preferred  Opal  to  any  other  girl,  and 
he  felt  that  she  must  be  proud  of  his  attentions, 
for  the  Briggses  considered  themselves  socially 
above  the  Flickingers. 

' '  I  know  of  nothing  pleasanter — from  a  botani- 
cal point  of  view — than  a  walk  in  May,"  observed 
Willie,  importantly,  crowding  Fairy  Jones  aside, 
and  hooking  one  fat,  white  hand  confidently 
around  Opal's  arm. 

"Or  any  other  point  of  view,"  added  Sefton 
Woods,  ungraciously. 

"Naturally  you  would  like  the  country,  being 
a  farmer,"  spoke  Willie  Briggs  with  tolerant 
blandness. 

"Certainly  I  am  a  farmer,"  returned  Sefton 
Woods,  aggressively. 

"I  shall  improve  our  walk,  Opal,  by  collecting 
specimens  for  my  herbarium,"  Willie  told  her. 
18 


OPAL 

"And  why  walk  so  fast?  For  I  wish  to  talk  to 
you,  Opal,  and  not  have  all  my  remarks  answered 
by  a  third  person.  You'll  be  glad  to  hear  that 
I'm  hired  to  teach  at  Stump's  Corners;  it's  a 
country  school,  but  still  a  step  toward  a  chair 
in  some  accredited  college.  My  aim  is  high — 
and—" 

"Got  your  teacher's  stiffcut  yit?"  inquired 
Fairy  Jones,  greedily.  She  was  a  regular  old 
woman  for  gossip,  and  lived  upon  it  spiritually 
as  some  people  do  on  texts. 

"Yes,  I  have,"  answered  Willie,  shortly,  not 
pleased  to  have  Fairy  Jones  interrupt  his  mono- 
logue, which  was  addressed  exclusively  to  Opal. 

"You'll  have  plenty  to  do  at  Stump's  Corners," 
struck  in  Sefton  Woods,  who  seemed  to  have  a 
peculiar  interest  in  Willie.  "They  threw  the 
teacher  out  last  year,  and  locked  the  door." 

"When  I  have  put  into  practice  my  theories 
on  pedagogy  and  psychology  nobody'll  want  to 
put  me  out,"  said  Willie,  with  considerable 
superiority. 

"Lick  'em,  Willie,  lick  'em,  that's  all  the 
pedagogy  you'll  need  at  Stump's  Corners,"  said 
Jed. 

"It  isn't  necessary,  Jed,  and  it  takes  away  a 
child's  self-respect." 

19 


OPAL 

"There's  kids  up  there  as  big  as  you  be, 
Willie,"  warned  Jed. 

But  as  Willie  maintained  a  dignified  silence  in 
regard  to  his  affairs  after  this,  and  purposely 
walked  slower  than  the  others,  he  was  left  behind 
with  Opal,  who  did  not  know  how  to  escape  him. 

Soon  they  came  to  the  real  country  where 
broad,  brown  fields  of  newly  ploughed  earth 
alternated  with  wheat-fields  of  deepening  green, 
and  far  ahead  stretched  the  distant  woods 
alluringly  wrapped  in  a  veil  of  young  buds.  But 
this  walk  which  Opal  had  anticipated  with  such 
delight  was  decidedly  disappointing;  for  while 
she  was  unwillingly  snailing  along  with  Willie, 
Fern  was  ahead,  talking  gayly  with  Sefton. 

Neither  was  Jed  enjoying  the  walk  as  he 
stalked  gloomily  by  himself.  Fairy  Jones  also 
walked  alone,  dodging  as  best  she  could  the 
sticks  and  chunks  of  dirt  with  which  Butch 
harried  her,  till  Opal  was  heartily  ashamed  of 
him,  and  Jed  threatened  him  with  a  thrashing. 

Farther  on  an  old  apple  orchard,  sloping  down 
a  gentle  hillside,  held  out  fragrant,  blossoming 
branches  above  the  foot-path.  "The  apple 
blossom  has  no  peduncle  and  is  therefore  ses- 
sile," lectured  Willie,  as  Fern  pinned  a  pink  and 
white  spray  on  Sefton's  coat. 


OPAL 

"I'm  glad  you  take  such  an  interest  in  botany, 
Opal,"  went  on  Willie,  though  Opal  had  scarcely 
spoken.  "A  professor's  wife  should  be  well 
versed  in  the  sciences."  Opal  looked  perversely 
away,  the  angry  red  naming  in  her  cheeks. 
"Other  examples  of  sessile  blooms — "  continued 
Willie,  instructively. 

"Shut  up,  Willie,  and  hike  over  this  fence," 
shouted  Jed.  "We've  got  to  go  'cross  lots 
now." 

"What!  cross  this  boggy  tract!"  exclaimed 
Willie  in  dismay. 

"That's  jest  what  we  do,"  said  Jed,  shortly, 
"so  git  a  toddle  on." 

"Our  land  begins  here,"  informed  Sefton 
Woods. 

"What  a  lovely  cow  pasture,"  complimented 
Fern. 

Jed  and  Sefton  laid  down  several  fence  rails  and 
helped  the  girls  over.  In  the  pasture,  though 
Fern  clung  closely  to  Sefton's  arm,  her  high  heels 
slipped  so  helplessly  off  the  hummocks  into  the 
muck  that  Jed  eagerly  supported  her  on  the  other 
side. 

Willie,  after  monopolizing  Opal  all  the  way 
down,  now  focused  his  whole  attention  on  his 
shoes,  leaving  Opal  to  get  along  as  best  she 


OPAL 

could.  Butch  amused  himself  by  occasionally 
bunting  Willie  in  the  back,  and  by  pushing  Opal 
and  Fairy  into  wet  places. 

After  entering  the  woods,  they  soon  came  to 
a  little  clearing  in  a  hollow  where  the  ground 
was  like  a  purple  and  green  tapestry.  It  was 
a  world  of  violets  through  whose  enchanted 
country  the  narrow,  brown  creek  zigzagged  its 
quiet  way,  outlined  by  the  emerald  tips  of  the 
crowding  young  rushes. 

Fairy  Jones  clutched  at  the  flowers  with  greedy 
hands,  and  hid  her  abbreviated  skirts  in  their 
friendly  foliage.  Butch  grabbed  two  large  violets 
and  hooked  off  their  heads. 

"Fight  vi'lets  with  me,  Jonesey,"  invited 
Butch. 

"No,  sir!"  cried  Fairy,  indignantly. 

Willie  Briggs,  whose  pale  blue  eyes  took  in 
nothing  but  specimens,  picked  just  two  flowers 
of  each  color  and  put  them  carefully  away  in  a 
fat  little  account-book. 

"Do  you  think  it  is  going  to  rain?"  faltered 
Opal,  finding  courage  to  address  Sefton  Woods, 
who  came  quickly  to  her  side. 

"No  signs  of  rain,"  he  assured  her. 

"I  never  saw  violets  growing  like  this  before," 
Opal  told  him. 


OPAL 

"I  thought  you'd  like  them — and  I  wanted 
you  to— because  they're  on  my  farm." 

"That's  what  he  tells  all  the  girls,  Opal," 
Fern,  who  had  followed  Sefton,  spoke  up  sweetly. 

"I'm  goin'  to  throw  'em  in  the  creek,  Jonesey," 
threatened  Butch,  grabbing  Fairy's  flowers. 

"Give  'em  back.  Jed,  make  him!"  entreated 
Fairy. 

"Give  Fairy  her  flowers — or  git  cuffed,"  Jed 
ordered  him. 

Opal  picked  violets  half-heartedly,  ashamed 
of  Butch's  behavior,  and  almost  sorry  that  she 
had  not  listened  to  her  mother  and  stayed  at 
home.  She  felt  strangely  solitary  in  the  midst 
of  the  chattering  group  of  young  people.  And 
she  kept  wondering  forlornly  if  Sefton  Woods 
had  been  offended  at  her  mother's  manner,  and 
if  he  thought  her  family  queer.  And  the  beauty 
of  her  surroundings  came  poignantly  to  her  as 
she  looked  up  at  the  blue  sky,  with  its  mist 
wreaths  of  white  clouds,  bending  graciously 
above  them  like  a  canopy  upheld  by  the  gnarled, 
gray-green  tree  trunks  of  the  encircling  oaks 
that  were  partially  veiled  by  delicate  rose  and 
fawn-colored  buds,  and  the  duller  buds  of  the 
lesser  trees  and  the  underbrush  that  shut  in  this 
natural  garden. 

23 


OPAL 

The  flowers  were  so  beautiful  that  Opal  was 
reluctant  to  pick  them,  and  it  hurt  her  to  see 
them  jerked  off  by  careless  hands,  or  trampled 
under  foot.  She  wondered  why  so  much  beauty 
should  make  her  feel  so  lonely,  and  she  tried  not 
to  mind  Fernie's  usurpation  of  Sefton  Woods, 
telling  herself  proudly  that  he  would  pay  more 
attention  to  her  if  he  desired  to.  And  she  dread- 
ed the  long,  dismal  walk  home  with  Willie. 

"Oh,  lookie!"  shrieked  Fern.  "Jest  see  these 
perfectly  lovely  dears!  Such  awfully  sweet 
flowers.  Opal,  you  ain't  crazy  for  flowers  like 
I  am.  You  ain't  got  half  as  many  as  I  have. 
Sefton,  pick  me  them  beauties  over  there  by  that 
log.  Oh,  ain't  they  perfectly  perfect?" 

Fern  managed  to  keep  Sefton  Woods  busy 
picking  flowers  for  her,  and  Jed  was  foolishly 
happy  in  contributing  all  that  he  found.  And 
she  ensnared  Butch  into  giving  her  an  occasional 
fighter.  Even  Willie  Briggs  gallantly  yielded 
more  than  one  specimen  to  swell  her  enormous 
bunch  of  violets.  For  Fern's  idea  of  gathering 
flowers  was  to  get  a  larger  bouquet  than  any  one 
else. 

"The  only  disagreeable  thing  about  specimens 
is  having  to  go  after  them  in  a  dirty  place  like 
this,"  complained  Willie  Briggs,  as  he  stood 
24 


OPAL 

carefully  on  the  dry  end  of  a  log.  "And  I  am 
more  interested  in  cryptogamia,  anyway,  than 
I  am  in  flowering  plants,"  he  confided  to  Opal, 
who  was  not  listening  to  him.  "But  there 
seems  to  be  a  dearth  of  cryptogamia  here,"  he 
added,  discontentedly. 

"Willie  likes  weeds  better  than  I  do,"  giggled 
Fern,  whose  ideas  of  botany  were  extremely 
hazy. 

"Willie  wouldn't  be  pressin'  any  old  specimens 
over  his  heart  if  he  had  to  clean  up  this  creek 
bottom  with  a  grub  hoe,"  said  Jed,  who  looked 
down  on  Willie  as  a  sissy. 

The  longer  they  stayed  the  more  unhappy 
Opal  grew,  and  the  sunny  afternoon  wore  slow- 
ly away.  Before  they  started  home,  Jed  and 
Sefton  visited  Jed's  land,  which  was  near  by, 
to  look  at  some  berry  vines.  Willie  Briggs  and 
Butch  were  invited  to  go  with  them ;  but  Butch 
was  on  the  trail  of  a  snake,  and  Willie  murmured 
something  about  staying  to  protect  the  ladies. 

As  Jed  and  Sefton  were  returning,  they  heard 
terrified  screams  and  the  angry  pipe  of  Willie 
Briggs's  childish  tenor.  Bursting  through  the 
underbrush,  they  saw  the  frightened  girls  hud- 
dled together,  with  Butch  waving  a  green  and 
yellow  striped  snake  almost  in  their  faces.  And 
25 


OPAL 

Willie,  from  behind  the  girls,  was  imploring  him 
to  stop. 

"Drop  that  snake,"  thundered  Jed  from  the 
side  hill. 

But  before  they  could  reach  Butch  he  had 
caught  the  shrieking  Fairy  by  her  streaming 
hair  and  was  about  to  put  the  writhing  snake 
down  her  back,  when  Sefton  Woods,  who  was 
slightly  ahead,  dashed  up  and,  grabbing  Butch 
with  an  iron  grip,  forced  him  to  drop  the  snake, 
which  escaped  under  the  leaves. 

"You  leave  me  be,"  snarled  Butch,  and  began 
to  fight.  He  was  fully  as  large  as  Sefton  Woods ; 
but  Sefton,  righteously  indignant,  shook  Butch 
furiously,  threw  him  to  the  ground  and  held  him 
there. 

"Oh,  I  knew  we'd  have  trouble  with  Butch," 
lamented  Opal,  trying  to  comfort  Fairy,  who 
was  sobbing  hysterically. 

"No  fighting,  boys — I  tell  you,  no  fighting," 
interfered  Willie  Briggs;  "it  is  never  manly  to 
fight." 

"Oh,  be  careful,  Sefton;  Butch  won't  care 
what  he  does  to  you,"  pleaded  Opal.  "Jed, 
why  don't  you  help  Sefton?" 

"Aw,  Seftie  can  handle  two  like  Butch,"  re- 
turned Jed. 

26 


OPAL 

"Control  yourself,  Sefton;  do  nothing  you'll 
regret,"  admonished  Willie,  placing  his  plump, 
white  hand  on  Sefton's  shoulder. 

"Shut  up!"  roared  Sefton  Woods,  shaking 
Willie's  hand  off  roughly. 

"Be  ladylike,  Woods,"  Jed  mimicked  Willie. 

"I'll  attend  to  that  sissy  next,"  threatened 
Sefton. 

"Aw,  Willie  wouldn't  hurt  a  bumblebee!" 
jeered  Jed. 

"Behave  yourself — and  I'll  let  you  up,"  Sefton 
told  Butch. 

"I'll  git  even  with  you,  I  will,"  snarled  Butch. 

"And  you'll  stop  scaring  girls,  too,"  Sefton 
told  him. 

"I  was  only  havin'  fun  with  the  snake," 
whined  Butch,  but  he  finally  gave  a  grudging 
promise  of  good  behavior.  Then,  though  Sef- 
ton got  up,  Butch  still  lay  on  the  ground, 
groaning. 

"It  certainly  was  a  cowardly  thing  for  Clar- 
ence to  frighten  the  young  ladies  so,"  observed 
Willie,  with  considerable  warmth  for  him. 

"You  was  scared  stiff  yourself,  wasn't  you, 
Willie?"  teased  Jed. 

"No,  I  wasn't  frightened,"  answered  Willie, 
with  dignity;  "but  I  detest  snakes." 
27 


OPAL 

"Get  up,  Butch,  and  hike  for  home," 
commanded  Jed. 

"Muh  laig's  broke,"  wailed  Butch,  still 
sprawled  on  the  ground.  "I  can't  move,"  and 
he  blubbered  loudly  and  shamelessly. 

"Butch,  are  you  really  hurt?"  cried  Sefton 
Woods.  "Come,  try  to  get  up." 

"I'll  git  even  with  you,  Mr.  Sef  Woods,"  was 
Butch's  sullen  reply. 

"It's  terrible  hard  for  Butch  to  keep  a-hol- 
lerin'  as  it  is,"  said  Jed,  dryly.  "I  know  Butch." 

But  nobody  really  knew  whether  Butch  was 
hurt  or  only  angry  and  stubborn,  for  he  would 
not  get  up;  and  while  they  stood  squabbling 
over  him,  the  sun  sank,  the  evening  mists  crept 
over  the  little  hollow,  and  a  few  faint  stars  were 
lighted  in  the  sky. 

"Seven  o'clock,"  exclaimed  Willie  Briggs, 
anxiously  examining  his  watch.  "That's  un- 
fortunate. Our  Young  Men's  Ethical  Club  meets 
at  seven-thirty,  and  I  am  on  for  a  speech.  But 
I  believe  I  can  make  it  by  a  little  careful  sprint- 
ing if  you,  Jed,  will  look  after  Miss  Opal." 

"Sure,"  grinned  Jed. 

"Thanks,  Jed.  I've  had  a  very  pleasant 
afternoon,  Sefton,"  mumbled  Willie,  conven- 
tionally. "Good-bye,  Opal,  and  everybody,  and 
28 


OPAL 

he  faded  into  the  growing  gloom,  declaiming 
parts  of  his  speech  as  he  went. 

"Oh,"  wailed  Fairy  Jones,  "I'm  afraid  to  go 
home !  I'll  drop  dead  if  another  snake  is  waggled 
at  me!" 

"Poor  little  kid,"  sympathized  Sefton,  "I'll 
take  care  of  you,"  and  he  took  Fairy's  hand. 

"Two  is  a  company,  Fairy,  three  is  a  crowd," 
warned  Fern  Bistle. 

"I  won't  be  a  crowd,  I  won't  be  a  crowd," 
sobbed  Fairy,  jerking  her  hand  away,  offended 
at  being  treated  like  a  little  girl. 

"Well,  great  guns!"  protested  Sefton  Woods. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

But  Fairy  was  spunky  and  would  not  talk. 

"This  here  foolishness  has  gone  far  enough," 
stated  Jed,  with  authority.  "Butch,  git  up, 
or  we'll  help  you  up.  Seftie,  take  a  holt." 
But  though  Jed  and  Sefton  both  tugged  at 
Butch,  they  could  not  get  him  on  to  his  feet. 

"Something  is  the  matter  with  Butchie's 
laig,"  declared  Fairy,  beginning  to  feel  sorry  for 
her  tormentor. 

"Mebbe  Butch  needs  a  manly  kick  to  rouse 
him,"  suggested  Jed. 

"No,  he  might  be  hurt,"  conceded  Sefton. 
"See,  one  leg  is  stiff." 
3  29 


OPAL 

Ruthlessly  Jed  prodded  along  Butch's  leg 
till  he  came  to  his  foot,  which  was  buried  in  the 
leaves.  "Lookie,  a  put-up  job!"  shouted  Jed; 
for  Butch  had  held  himself  down  by  screwing 
his  foot  under  a  root.  With  a  mighty  effort  Jed 
jerked  out  the  root,  and  then  they  pulled  Butch 
to  his  feet.  Groaning  and  limping,  the  angry 
boy  started  for  home. 

Then  Sefton  Woods  turned  to  Opal,  the  joy  of 
battle  dancing  in  his  handsome  gray  eyes,  the 
flag  of  no  surrender  flaunting  red  in  his  brown 
cheeks,  and  satisfaction  at  Willie's  departure 
dawning  brightly  in  his  smile.  Deliberately  he 
tossed  away  the  faded  apple  blossoms  that  Fern 
had  pinned  on  his  coat. 

"Come,  Opal,"  he  said,  and  presently  they 
were  walking  together  through  the  woods.  And 
Opal,  conscious  of  the  magnetism  of  Sef ton's 
vital  personality,  could  scarcely  speak  at  first. 

If  Fern  Bistle  was  chagrined,  nobody  knew  it. 
Turning  to  Jed,  she  said  in  a  sweet,  pouting 
voice:  "Jed,  you  didn't  even  try  to  walk  with 
me  coming  down.  Are  you  mad?" 

"Oh,  Fernie!"  cried  Jed,  helplessly,  his  rough 
voice  unconsciously  growing  gentle.  ' '  I  thought 
you'd  ruther  walk  with  Sef  tie." 

"Oh,  I  wish  Butch  had  behaved  himself,"  Opal 
30 


OPAL 

finally  said,  nervously,  to  Sefton;  "now  nobody 
can  tell  what  he'll  do." 

"Anyway,  he  won't  try  to  have  fun  with  the 
snake  again — when  I'm  around,"  prophesied 
Sefton. 

"It  isn't  that — he  deserves  what  he  got;  but 
he'll  lay  it  up  against  you." 

"Oh,  Butch  is  only  a  kid,"  answered  Sefton, 
easily. 

"Yes,  but  he's  awful  mean.  He  might  forget 
it,  and  he  might  not.  It  'd  be  just  like  him  to 
play  some  mean  trick  on  you." 

"I  was  pretty  hard  on  him,"  admitted  Sefton. 

"Git  a-goin'  there,"  yelled  a  familiar,  husky 
voice,  and  Butch,  miraculously  recovered,  raced 
by,  driving  Fairy  Jones  by  the  hair.  Sefton 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  guided  Opal  over  the 
uneven  ground;  and  Butch  and  Fairy  dis- 
appeared like  tricksy  brownies,  quarrelling  and 
giggling,  into  the  night.  Jed,  meanwhile,  was 
loitering  far  behind  with  one  great  arm  brazenly 
around  Fern's  small  waist,  lost  in  what  he  sup- 
posed to  be  Love's  Young  Dream. 

Opal  and  Sefton,  walking  in  an  enchanting 

privacy  of  their  own,  soon  reached  the  highway. 

The  moon,  a  shield  of  palest  daffodil  above  the 

tree-encircled  horizon,  seemed  to  float  serenely 

31 


OPAL 

with  them.  And  the  fragrance  of  the  blossom- 
ing apple  orchard,  that  was  half  obscured  by 
the  evening  dimness,  penetrated  far  down  the 
road. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  wonderful  night,"  said 
Opal. 

"It's  because  we  are  together — that  makes  it 
so  beautiful — to  me." 

"Oh  no,  the  night  is  different — someway," 
corrected  Opal. 

"Maybe  it's  part  the  night,"  gave  in  the  boy; 
"but  it's  something  else,  too,  something  that's 
coming  to  us — just  us,  Opal — don't  you  under- 
stand?" and  his  voice  vibrated  with  pleading. 

But  she  could  not  answer,  though  she  had 
cared  for  him  so  long.  For  ever  since  Opal  was 
a  neglected  child  she  had  looked  up  adoringly 
to  Jed's  wonderful  friend. 

As  they  stood  by  the  side  gate  at  Opal's  home, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  the  forget-me-nots 
on  the  lawn  lifted  their  faint,  starry  faces ;  and 
the  pale  moon,  watching  above,  translated  the 
witchery  of  the  hour  into  a  trembling  conscious- 
ness of  each  other's  presence. 

Then,  into  this  eloquent  and  tender  darkness 
there  shot  a  bright  light,  and  Ma  Flickinger's 
voice  at  the  door  stridently  accosted  them: 
32 


OPAL 

"Opal,  what  do  you  mean  by  draggin'  home 
with  a  strange  boy  at  this  time  of  night?" 

"We  waited  till  it  was  cool  to  walk  in,"  ex- 
plained Sefton  Woods,  following  Opal  to  the 
porch,  "and  then  we  took  it  slow." 

"Slow!"  echoed  Ma,  grimly,  not  inviting  him 
in.  "I  should  say  yes!  Black  molasses  in 
January  ain't  a  patchin'  to  your  comin'  home. 
Opal,  don't  stand  blabbin'  on  the  stoop — I  sup- 
pose your  dress  is  all  gritted  and  greened  up." 
Opal  was  ashamed  of  her  mother's  treatment  of 
Sefton,  and  dared  not  ask  him  in. 

"Let  that  be  the  last  of  him,"  said  Ma  after  he 
was  gone.  "As  long  as  you're  goin'  to  be  a 
school-teacher,  you  ain't  no  use  for  beaus." 

Opal  put  her  flowers  in  water;  and  the  close 
little  rooms,  permeated  with  cooking  smells, 
seemed  to  shut  her  in  like  a  prison  and  to  shut 
out  all  the  witchery  of  the  warm  May  night  that 
had  appealed  to  her  so  subtly  and  awakened  so 
quick  a  response  in  her  wistful  soul. 

"Let's  see  your  flowers,"  demanded  her 
mother.  ' '  Wilted , ' '  was  her  unpleasant  comment . 

"I  wisht  I  hadn't  a-let  you  went,"  she  added, 

as  she  noticed  Opal's  tired  face;  "the  next  time 

I'll  have  something  to  say  about  it."    These 

last  words  came  with  ominous  significance  as 

33 


OPAL 

Opal  crept  forlornly  to  bed  in  the  dark;  for 
it  was  considered  an  unnecessary  waste  of  oil 
to  carry  a  lamp  if  you  could  feel  your  way  in  the 
Flickinger  household. 

"Oh,  I  wish  that  the  most  beautiful  things 
didn't  always  turn  out  to  be  wrong,"  cried  Opal 
to  herself.  "I  wish  that  just  once  something 
would  stay  as  nice  as  it  seemed  at  first.  I  wish 
my  mother  wasn't  so  hard  to  please.  I  wish 
my  father  was  different,  more  of  a  gentleman. 
And  I  wish  Jed  wasn't  so  dumb  and  clumsy  and 
awkward.  Oh,  I  wish  we  were  all  different,  and 
not  so  shabby  and  poor  and  looked  down  upon. 
Oh,  I  want  to  be  different,"  she  cried  again,  the 
bitter  tears  of  unhappy  youth  falling  fast;  "/ 
want  to  be  like  other  folks.  I  want  to  be  a  lady!" 


II 

A    GRADUATED    DAUGHTER 

WHEN  Opal  came  down  to  breakfast  the 
next  morning,  she  could  not  help  notic- 
ing how  dingy  and  discolored  the  little 
kitchen  looked.     The  stove  was  greasy,  and  the 
floor  needed  scrubbing.     The  dishes  had  been 
thrown  hastily  on  the  table.     Her  mother  was 
cross  and  uninviting  in  her  soiled,  slitted  wrap- 
per;   and  her  father  and  her  brother  Jed  had 
on  their  working  clothes. 

The  more  Opal  had  thought  about  the  short- 
comings of  her  family  the  more  she  had  magni- 
fied them.  And  it  made  her  very  unhappy  to 
think  that  her  parents  probably  appeared  ridicu- 
lous to  Sef ton  Woods ;  she  felt  that  it  reflected 
on  her,  and  that  he  would  think  less  of  her  be- 
cause of  them. 

And  Opal  was  not  entirely  to  blame  for  this 
superior  attitude ;  for  her  mother  had  made  her 
feel  that  to  graduate  from  the  high  school  was 
35 


OPAL 

to  attain  to  the  very  height  of  erudition.  But 
what  little  Opal  had  learned  had  opened  to  her 
a  new  world  of  beauty  and  refinement. 

And  she  had  gradually  come  to  know  that 
she  was  different  from  her  family  in  many  ways, 
and  to  continually  sit  in  judgment  on  them  and 
to  criticise  them.  And  there  had  grown  up  in 
their  home  imperceptibly  a  friction  between 
what  Opal  thought  was  right  and  proper  and 
what  her  family  had  always  done.  Ma  Flick- 
inger's  treatment  of  Sefton  Woods  had  intensi- 
fied Opal's  discontent,  and  made  her  resolve 
after  her  night  of  despair  that  she  would  try  to 
overcome  some  of  their  peculiarities. 

Opal  loved  beauty  and  refinement,  and  she 
longed  for  better  surroundings,  and  she  blamed 
her  parents  for  being  satisfied  with  life  as  they 
had  always  lived  it;  but  she  thought  that 
perhaps  if  she  tried  to  reform  them  in  small 
ways,  conditions  might  be  changed,  so  that  Sef- 
ton Woods  would  find  less  in  them  to  criti- 
cise. For  she  secretly  hoped  that  he  would  not 
allow  her  mother  to  keep  him  from  coming 
there. 

"Opal,  what  did  you  put  napkins  to  all  our 
plates  for?"  demanded  her  mother,  sharply,  as 
the  family  sat  down  to  breakfast. 
36 


OPAL 

"I  put  them  on  to  use,"  answered  Opal,  a 
little  guiltily. 

"To  use?"  repeated  her  mother,  astonished, 
"when  there  ain't  no  company — be  you  daffy?" 

"Opal's  a-slingin'  on  style  'cause  she's  gotta 
feller,"  grinned  Pa  Flickinger.  "Seftie  Woods 
is  a  swell,  Ma." 

"Seftie  Woods 's  folks,"  spoke  up  Jed,  unex- 
pectedly, "eat  on  a  white  table-cloth  every  day — 
with  napkins,"  he  added,  as  if,  incredible  as  it 
might  seem,  it  was  none  the  less  true. 

"It  looks  kinder  silly  and  affected-like  to  me 
to  use  napkins  when  there  ain't  no  company," 
criticised  Ma.  "Seftie  Woods  always  did  seem 
kinder  artificial -actin'.  Don't  nobody  dast  to 
unfold  your  napkins,  but  give  'em  here  to  me." 

"Why  can't  we  eat  on  a  table-cloth  instead  of 
this  old  oil-cloth?"  asked  Opal,  boldly. 

"Who'd  wash  and  iron  it?"  inquired  her 
mother,  practically.  "Tell  me  that!" 

"We  would." 

"We've  got  more  than  we  can  do  now,  so  shut 
up,"  recommended  Ma. 

"And  Seftie  Woods 's  folks  use  separate  spoons 
for  everything  that's  et,"  related  Jed,  as  one 
might  tell  of  the  strange  and  ridiculous  customs, 
of  a  foreign  people. 

37 


OPAL 

"Worse  and  worse,"  commented  Ma.  "I 
don't  call  such  actions  bright.  But  what's 
worryin'  me  this  mornin'  is  where  I'm  goin'  to 
git  fresh  strawberries  to  can." 

"Gowdy's,"  reminded  Pa,  referring  to  the 
nearest  grocery. 

"Gowdy's  never  have  nothin'  that  nobody 
wants,"  returned  Ma,  pessimistically. 

"Woods's  berries  are  tiptop;  I  could  get  a 
slick  case  of  Seftie,"  offered  Jed. 

"No  sir,"  refused  Ma.  "That  'd  jest  give  Sef- 
tie another  chanct  to  come  down  here.  Men- 
tion such  a  thing  to  him  and  you  git  cuffed." 

"Don't  I  git  no  coffee?"  demanded  Pa,  reach- 
ing vainly  for  his  cup. 

"Where's  that  coffee-pot?"  cried  Ma. 

"There's  one  coffee-pot  right  afore  your  eyes," 
Pa  told  her. 

"Opal,  this  is  your  doin's,"  accused  her 
mother,  "puttin'  a  hot  coffee-pot  on  the  oil-cloth. 
I  always  keep  it  on  the  floor  by  my  chair." 

"Everybody  else  keeps  theirs  on  the  table," 
defended  Opal.  "Besides,  I  put  it  on  a  plate — 
it  looks  so  to  keep  it  on  the  floor." 

' ' Looks  so !"  snorted  Pa,  indignantly.  ' '  What's 
that  got  to  do  with  it,  Miss  ?  Ma,  can't  I  have 
any  coffee?" 

38 


OPAL 

"Sure — whatever  was  I  thinkin'  of?  Here 
'tis.  But  I  always  keep  the  coffee-pot  on  the 
floor  where  it's  handy." 

"But  the  cat  rubs  against  it,"  claimed  Opal. 

"What  if  he  does?"  snapped  Ma.  "It's  his 
own  business  if  he  wants  to  git  his  fur  all  signed 
up." 

' '  But  it  isn't  good  for  the  coffee — hairs  might 
fly  into  the  open  spout,"  argued  Opal. 

"The  idee!"  exclaimed  her  mother,  and  put 
the  coffee-pot  deliberately  on  the  floor.  "That's 
a  shade  too  finicky  for  me!" 

"Opal  must  be  expectin'  her  feller,"  remarked 
Pa,  "to  want  things  so  scrumptious." 

"Opal  ain't  got  no  feller,"  remarked  Ma, 
grimly;  "but  if  you  mean  Sef  Woods — Opal's 
saw  the  last  of  him." 

Opal  listened  breathlessly,  her  heart  beating 
with  painful  rapidity. 

"I  give  Sef  Woods  to  understand  when  he 
brought  Opal  home  the  other  night  that  he 
wa'n't  wanted  here,"  added  Ma. 

"Sef tie  can  come  here  whenever  he  likes," 
announced  Jed,  emphatically. 

"But  not  as  a  beau,"  retorted  Ma. 

Though  her  mother  had  objected  to  using 
napkins  when  there  was  no  company,  and  to 
39 


OPAL 

keeping  the  coffee-pot  on  the  table,  Opal  felt 
that  there  might  be  other  ways  in  which  she 
might  yet  reform  her  parents;  so,  when  she 
brought  out  the  dishes  for  supper,  she  sub- 
stituted a  silver  knife  for  the  little  steel  one 
with  which  her  father  always  ate. 

"I  wouldn't  tamper  with  Pa's  little  knife," 
warned  her  mother ;  ' '  you  know  yourself  he  won't 
eat  with  a  silver  knife.  And  none  of  us  would 
have  to  if  our  bone-handled  ones  hadn't  give 
out.  But  the  silver  knives  bein'  a  present  from 
the  children  and  so  not  costin'  nothin',  I  thought 
it  'd  be  cheaper  for  us  to  use  'em  every  day  than 
to  buy  new." 

"I  guess  you're  goin'  to  go  to  the  Old  Folks' 
picnic  at  Berrien  Springs,  Opal,"  Jed  informed 
his  sister  at  the  supper- table,  "Sef  tie's  goin'." 

"Is  he?"  cried  Opal  so  eagerly  that  Ma  Flick- 
inger  stared  frigidly  at  her,  and  Jed's  reply 
got  no  further  than  an  affirmative  "uh-huh." 

"Here's  Opal  a-makin'  everything  disagree- 
able ag'in,"  complained  her  father,  irritably, 
when  he  found  the  silver  knife.  "Where's  that 
there  little  steel  knife  I've  et  with  for  forty  year? 
I  suppose  Opal  thinks  it  ain't  swell  enough." 

"But,  Pa,  I  gave  you  a  good  knife  in  place 
of  it." 

40 


OPAL 

"No  such  thing,"  snarled  her  father;  "you 
give  me  this  here  silver  slab." 

"What's  the  difference?"  asked  Opal,  pa- 
tiently; "it's  a  knife." 

"It's  called  a  knife,"  corrected  her  father,  with 
a  scowl. 

"I  manage  to  eat  with  mine,  Pa;  and  after 
you  git  used  to  it  you  don't  notice  how  dull  and 
heavy  it  is,"  comforted  Jed. 

"I've  et  with  my  silver  knife  as  a  duty — 
never  as  a  pleasure,"  contributed  Ma,  "and 
your  Pa  only  shows  his  sense  in  objectin'." 

"A  knife,"  grumbled  Pa,  "is  to  eat  with,  ain't 
it?  But,  lookie  here,  Opal,  this  silver  thing  is  a 
knife  in  name  only — it  won't  cut.  Why,  with 
a  loaf  of  bread  and  nothin'  but  this  silver  knife, 
a  man  that  wanted  to  be  genteel  and  not  claw 
his  bread  off  nor  chaw  it  off'n  the  loaf  'd  starve. 
Give  me  somethin'  to  cut  with." 

"But  the  old  steel  knife  looks  so!  Suppose 
we  had  company?"  contended  Opal. 

"Ah-ha!"  flared  Ma,  "that's  it!  She  thinks 
Pa  ain't  swell  enough  for  Sef  Woods.  Opal,  git 
Pa's  little  steel  knife  to  onct." 

"Opal's  been  bit  with  the  genteel  microbe," 
teased  her  brother. 

"Well,  for  my  part  I  never  want  to  be  stylish. 
41 


OPAL 

I  wa'n't  cut  out  for  style  in  the  first  place,  and  I 
don't  care  who  knows  it!"  stated  Ma,  violently. 

"Nothin'  stylish  in  a  young  one's  tellin'  her 
Pa  and  Ma  how  to  eat,"  put  in  Pa. 

"We're  behind  the  times,  Pa,"  informed  his 
wife,  bitterly;  '"pears  like  we've  et  wrong  and 
done  everything  wrong." 

"But  you  could  learn  to  do  things  right," 
began  Opal,  persuasively.  "And  don't  say  'et,' 
Ma — it's  just  as  easy  to  say  'eaten.' " 

"My  stars!  What  next?"  glared  Ma.  "I 
learned  to  talk,  Opal,  afore  you  was  born.  Is 
it  likely  I'd  change  at  this  late  day  ?" 

"If  Opal's  goin'  to  be  a  school-teacher,  mebbe 
she  wants  summat  to  practise  on,"  grinned  her 
father. 

"Oh,  Pa,  you  mustn't  say  'summat' — it  isn't 
a  word,"  remonstrated  his  daughter. 

"Ain't  a  word!"  shouted  her  father,  with  in- 
creasing excitement.  "Well,  hear  that!  How 
do  you  know  it  ain't  a  word?" 

"It  isn't  in  the  dictionary,"  said  Opal. 

"Shucks!"  disparaged  Pa.  "What's  the  dic- 
tionary got  to  do  with  it  ?  The  words  that  git 
into  a  dictionary  ain't  common  talkin'  words, 
nohow;  they're  written  words — nobody  puts 
talk  into  a  dictionary." 
42 


OPAL 

"Why  not?"  questioned  Opal,  astonished  at 
her  father's  apparent  knowledge  of  the  making 
or  dictionaries. 

' '  'Cause  why  ?  'Cause  spoken  words  is  too 
lively  for  'em  —  who  can  go  'round  and  keep 
track  of  every  word  that's  spoke  ?  I  can 
make  up  a  hull  mouthful  myself,  and  no  dic- 
tionary '11  never  know  anything  about  it  — 
see?" 

"But,  Pa—"  protested  Opal. 

"They  put  written  words — not  spoke  words 
— into  a  dictionary,"  differentiated  Pa,  rather 
surprised  and  pleased  at  his  own  remarks. 

"But  educated  people  talk  better  than  you 
do,  anyway,"  maintained  Opal,  "whatever  words 
they  use." 

"If  you  want  to  git  told  summat,"  remarked 
Pa,  deliberately  using  the  word  under  discussion, 
"that  ain't  got  no  sense  to  it,  git  a  graduated 
daughter  to  talk  to  you." 

"And  I  don't  see,"  broke  in  Ma,  heatedly, 
"why  our  Pa,  or  anybody  else,  can't  use  the 
words  that  is  naturally  his'n — if  they  ain't  all 
such  tony  words!" 

"But  people  laugh  at  you  when  you  talk 
queer,"  replied  Opal,  as  if  that  were  an  unanswer- 
able argument. 

43 


OPAL 

"Our  own  young  ones  does — if  they  ain't  got 
the  decency  not  to,"  retorted  Ma. 

"But  anybody — old  or  young — ought  to  want 
to  speak  correctly,"  harped  Opal. 

"To  my  mind  there's  nothin'  comicaler  than 
an  educated  party  tryin'  to  git  out  nothin'  but 
big  words ;  it's  funnier  than  a  sensible  person  like 
our  Pa  a-usin'  words  that  are  naturally  his'n. 
And  I  dunno  but  what  I  like  the  way  our  Pa 
speaks  best,  anyway,  'cause  you  always  know 
what  Pa  means." 

"A  little  education  is  the  root  of  all  evil," 
misquoted  her  father.  "That's  a  old  saw  I 
never  see  much  in  till  I  got  a  educated  daughter 
that  thinks  her  own  folks  is  jest  naturally  scum 
unless  they  use  dictionary  words." 

"Land,  Pa,  don't  be  ha'sh,"  soothed  Ma. 
"Scum  ain't  a  pretty  word  to  use  at  the  table, 
nohow." 

"We're  just  as  good  if  we  talk  queer;  but  it 
sounds  so  funny,"  explained  Opal. 

"When  a  man's  ludricuss  to  his  own  kid, 
summat's  wrong  with  that  kid — or  else  the  old 
man's  a  gawk,"  stated  Pa,  gloomily. 

"It's  just  as  easy  to  form  good  habits  of 
speech,"  instructed  Opal. 

"A  body  'd  think  I'd  took  to  drink,"  com- 
44 


OPAL 

plained  her  father.  "And  here's  Jeddie — ain't 
he  been  to  college?  And  ain't  he  learned  any 
amount  of  whoppers  ?  But  Jed's  never  hetche- 
lin'  nobody." 

"Aw,  come  off,  Pa,"  grinned  Jed. 

"It  ain't  because  Opal's  jest  saw  our  faults 
all  of  a  sudden — she's  puttin'  on  all  this  agony 
for  Sef  Woods;  he's  turned  her  head,"  declared 
Ma  Flickinger.  "But  you  and  me,  Pa,  '11  never 
put  on  agony  for  nobody." 

"Ain't  Willie  Briggs  sweet  on  Opal,  too?" 
asked  Pa,  as  if  to  change  the  subject. 

"Willie  Briggs!  Land,  no,  he's  only  an  old 
schoolmate  growed  into  a  gentleman  friend," 
explained  Ma,  pushing  back  her  chair.  "And  I 
don't  know,  Opal,  why  you  should  want  to  do  so 
much  for  Sef  Woods,  who's  never  done  nothin' 
for  you.  Seems  to  me  you  might  do  a  little  for 
your  own  folks.  We  want  you  to  teach  school 
and  put  your  education  to  some  use." 

Early  the  next  Sunday  evening,  Opal,  in  her 
best  white  dress,  was  sitting  forlornly  on  the 
back  porch;  for  she  had  not  seen  Sef  ton  for  a 
week,  nor  had  she  received  any  word  from  him  ; 
and  the  four-o'clocks,  crowding  in  gorgeous  pro- 
fusion about  the  steps,  blinked  their  many- 
colored  eyes  at  her  with  bright  heartlessness. 
4  45 


OPAL 

All  day  long  she  had  been  expecting  Sefton 
Woods,  but  he  had  not  come. 

Neither  were  Ma  and  Pa  Flickinger,  who  sat 
grumpily  on  the  front  porch,  enjoying  them- 
selves; for  Opal,  by  her  fault-finding  and  un- 
happiness,  had  cast  a  gloom  over  the  little 
household. 

"I  dunno  but  what  I'd  ruther  Opal  'd  'a'  stayed 
like  the  rest  of  us  and  not  got  so  blamed  smart," 
complained  her  father.  "Nothin's  disagreeabler 
to  my  mind  than  a  kid  that's  always  thinkin' 
she's  smarter  than  her  folks.  Why,  look  at  Mr. 
Peyton,  my  boss — he  went  to  a  big  Eastern 
college;  but  it  didn't  swell  him  up  till  he  can't 
see  a  n'iggerunt  man  like  me  straight.  I'll 
betche,  Ma,  that  Mr.  Peyton  can  see  a  man's 
good  points  all  the  better  for  his  education — 
that's  what  it's  for.  Oh,  I  ain't  a-blamin'  educa- 
tion— jest  look  at  our  Jeddie.  And  Mr.  Peyton 
never  makes  me  feel  like  a  fool ;  but  Opal  don't 
see  nothin'  but  our  faults." 

"Book  education  ain't  a-doin'  for  Opal  what 
I  thought  it  would,"  sighed  Ma. 

"She'll  find  out  that  there's  education  in  a 
good  many  things  outside  of  books  some  day," 
declared  Pa;  "if  there  wasn't,  this  'd  be  a  pretty 
comical  world." 

46 


OPAL 

"And  she  ain't  got  no  intrust  in  gettin'  a 
school  to  teach,"  added  Ma.  "She  jest  sets 
around  loonylike  and  lets  her  mind  run  on 
Sef  Woods.  I  thought  education  'd  be  a  grand 
thing  for  her;  but  look  how  it  works!" 

"Opal  don't  know  enough  to  know  that  she 
don't  know  nothin',"  said  Pa,  with  a  sad  cer- 
tainty. 

"And  it  gets  on  my  nerves  to  have  her  find  so 
much  fault  with  everything  we  do,"  said  Ma. 

"Why,  ain't  we  folks  jest  the  same  —  if  we 
don't  know  A  from  Africky  ?"  cried  Pa,  wistfully. 

"But  her  high-falutin'  actions  about  our  man- 
ners ain't  all  the  problem  that's  frontin'  us 
neither;  how's  this  here  business  with  that 
Woods  boy  comin'  out?  Pa,  you  ought  to  let 
him  know  that  he  ain't  welcome  here." 

"I  guess  you've  pretty  nigh  done  that,"  ob- 
served her  husband,  dryly. 

"But  I  ain't  druv  the  idee  home;  he'll  be 
comin'  here  ag'in.  If  I  was  a  man  I'd  'a'  sent 
him  kitin'  long  afore  this ;  but  bein'  a  woman,  I 
can't  do  nothin'  that  ain't  ladylike." 

"As  I  rightly  see  it,  Ma,  there  ain't  no  harm 
bein'  done,"  said  Pa,  seriously. 

"Jest  like  a  man — blind!"  cried  Ma,  angrily. 
"I  see  harm.  I  thought  sure  he'd  be  down 
47 


OPAL 

to-day,  but  maybe  he's  gotta  'nother  girl  by 
this  time." 

But  an  hour  later,  Ma  saw  Opal  coming  across 
the  closely  clipped  green  velvet  of  the  back 
lawn,  her  slight  young  form  delicately  outlined 
against  the  shadowy  foliage  of  the  garden.  She 
was  carrying  a  great  bouquet  of  bleeding  hearts, 
and  their  graceful  pendants  showed  rose-pink 
against  the  white  of  her  dress.  Opal's  cheeks 
were  as  bright  as  the  flowers,  and  she  was  not 
alone,  for  Sefton  Woods  walked  beside  her. 

"He's  tumble  good-lookin',  and  pleasant 
spoken;  and  I  scurcely  can't  help  but  like  him 
myself,"  thought  Ma,  grimly.  "What  stragglin' 
things  bleedin'  hearts  is,"  she  criticised,  when 
Opal  came  in  to  put  the  flowers  in  water. 

And  when  Opal  had  returned  to  Sefton,  her 
mother  called  to  her  from  the  back  door:  "The 
dew's  a-fallin',  Opal,  and  I  dunno  what  it  '11  do 
to  your  ears ;  remember,  they  ached  all  through 
April." 

But  as  her  daughter  did  not  come  in,  Ma 
presently  addressed  her  again:  "Night  air  is 
always  more  or  less  sickly;  and  don't  forgit  that 
there  bench  you  are  settin'  on  has  one  weak  leg. 
It  'd  look  better  if  you'd  come  'round  in  front, 
anyway." 

48 


OPAL 

Sefton  and  Opal  came  obediently  to  the  front 
porch,  and  'no  sooner  had  Ma  heard  the  low, 
laughter-laden  hum  of  their  happy  young  voices, 
than  she  came  ostentatiously  into  the  parlor  and, 
seating  herself  in  the  rocker  by  the  open  window, 
creaked  back  and  forth  with  painful  regularity. 

"Opal,  that  hammock's  too  rotten  to  hold 
two  folks,"  warned  Ma. 

"We're  not  sitting  in  the  hammock,"  Opal 
assured  her. 

"I  was  just  asking  Opal  if  she'd  rather  go  to 
the  Old  Folks'  picnic  by  boat,  or  if  she'd  rather 
drive  up,"  explained  Sefton  to  Mrs.  Flickinger. 

"Opal  knows  she  can't  go  up — one  way  nor 
t'other,"  snapped  Ma;  "besides,  it's  an  Old 
Folks 's  picnic — no  call  for  either  of  you  to  go," 
and  she  noisily  withdrew  to  the  sitting-room, 
where  Pa  was  reading,  and  Jed,  dressed  in  his 
best  suit,  was  standing  before  a  small  oval  look- 
ing-glass, painstakingly  brushing  his  hair. 

"Fernie  Bistle's  gone  to  church  with  her 
mother,  Jed,  if  that's  got  anything  to  do  with 
your  actions,"  informed  Ma. 

"Swelterin'  weather,"  grumbled  Pa. 

"Why  don't  you  go  out  on  the  porch,  Pa, 
with  the  young  folks? — it's  cooler  there,"  re- 
marked Ma,  pleasantly.     "You,  too,  Jed." 
49 


OPAL 

"I  don't  want  to  butt  in,"  replied  Pa,  in  a 
voice  that  he  supposed  to  be  politely  muffled, 
but  that  was  perfectly  audible  on  the  porch. 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you  when  you  need 
air,"  said  Ma,  and  she  shooed  Pa  and  Jed  on  to 
the  front  porch,  and  then  jerked  out  three  chairs. 

"How's  your  Ma?"  Opal's  mother  inquired, 
with  frosty  politeness,  of  Sefton  Woods,  when 
she  was  seated. 

"She's  well,  thank  you;  but  she  gets  pretty 
tired  canning  berries;  she's  got  a  cold-water 
receipt  that  she  thinks  is  just  the  thing.  Ever 
try  it,  Mrs.  Flickinger?" 

"Ever  try  it?"  repeated  Ma,  vitally  interested 
at  once.  "No,  I  never  did;  but  my  hull  life  I've 
been  lookin'  forward  to  the  time  when  I  could 
try  it  on  fresh  strawberries — but  you  can't  git 
'em  at  Gowdy's." 

"Let  me  give  you  a  case  of  strawberries  from 
our  farm,"  offered  Sefton  Woods.  "Our  berries 
are  fine  this  year." 

"Many  thanks,"  returned  Ma,  stiffly,  then 
added  pointedly:  "but  your  farm's  so  fur  off 
that  there  'd  be  no  way  to  git  'em  down  here; 
besides,  I'd  be  perfectly  willing  to  pay  for  'em." 

"Oh,    you    needn't    pay,"    answered    Sefton 
Woods.     "  I  owe  Jed  for  seed  corn  now." 
5° 


OPAL 

"In  that  case,"  faltered  Ma,  hesitating  be- 
tween her  desire  for  the  berries  and  her  fear  of 
encouraging  Sefton,  "still — I  dunno,  I  might 
not  have  cans  enough." 

"Git  all  the  cans  you  want,  Ma,  at  Gowdy's," 
reminded  Jed. 

"Gowdy's  never  have  no  thin'  you've  got  to 
have,"  dissented  Ma. 

' '  I  guess  we  could  gather  in  enough  cans  from 
somewheres,"  suggested  Pa,  vaguely. 

"Probably  there  are  enough  down  cellar," 
added  Opal. 

"But  cans  ain't  all,"  objected  Ma;  "there's  my 
wash  to-morrow.  Much  obliged  to  you,  Sef  tie,  but 
it  wouldn't  be  possible  for  me  to  can  'em — I  wish 
I  could,"  she  added  politely.  It  was  not  ethical 
on  Ma's  street  to  wash  on  any  day  but  Monday. 

"But  the  berries  couldn't  be  canned  on  Mon- 
day, anyway,  they've  got  to  be  picked  first," 
informed  Sefton.  "And  Jed  could  bring  them 
down  to-morrow  night  when  he  comes  home  from 
work." 

"Sure,"  promised  Jed,  readily;  "and,  say, 
Ma,  they're  dandy  berries." 

"Well,   I  dunno,"  wavered  Ma,  though  she 
was  eager  for  the  berries;    "but  if  Jed  brings 
'em  down— what  say,  Pa?" 
51 


OPAL 

"Never  refuse  a  gift  that  don't  costnothin," 
encouraged  Pa. 

"It  was  the  week's  wash  that  was  really  in 
the  way,  and  so  I  thank  you,  Seftie,  many  times. 
And  you  know,  Seftie,  our  wash  is  big  and  it's 
dirty,"  explained  Ma,  addressing  the  first  cordial 
words  to  Sefton  that  she  had  spoken  since  he 
had  shown  his  preference  for  Opal;  "and  if  I 
don't  git  it  done  on  Monday  it  '11  be  stringin' 
along  all  through  the  week — and  then  what  '11 
the  neighbors  say!  And  land  knows  it's  hard 
enough  to  git  hold  of  the  clothes  in  the  first 
place ;  Jed,  here,  hangs  on  to  his  wamus  like  it 
was  spun  gold,  he  jest  naturally  don't  want  it 
washed  at  all,  and  that's  the  way  it  goes. 
And—" 

"How  many  cans  will  it  take?"  interrupted 
Opal,  who  was  ashamed  of  her  mother's  reference 
to  the  washing.  And  Ma  Flickinger,  forgetting 
in  her  excitement  that  she  ought  to  stay  and 
chaperon  Opal,  hurried  away  to  count  her  cans. 

"It's  strikin'  eight,"  yawned  Pa,  "and  that's 
A.  Flickinger's  bedtime.  You  young  folks 
needn't  mind  my  turnin'  in,"  and  Pa  shambled 
amiably  away.  And  at  last  Sefton  and  Opal 
were  alone,  for  Jed  had  discreetly  withdrawn. 

"Praise  be!"  pronounced  Sefton  Woods,  fer- 
52 


OPAL 

vently,  turning  to  Opal.  "As  long  as  your 
mother  doesn't  want  you  to  go  to  Berrien  Springs 
let's  do  something  else." 

"But  she  won't  let  me  do  anything,"  sighed 
Opal;  "I  know  she  won't." 

Willie  Briggs,  whose  approach  had  been  un- 
noticed by  them,  now  came  importantly  on  to 
the  porch  and  greeted  Opal  and  Sef  ton.  He  was 
elegantly  clad  in  his  Sunday  suit  of  black,  and  he 
did  not  notice  that  he  was  unwelcome. 

"I  just  dropped  in  on  my  way  home  from  the 
Ethical  Club,  Opal,  to  tell  you  that  I  have  been 
asked  to  make  an  address  at  the  Old  Folks' 
picnic,  and  I'm  going  to  take  you  up  with  me — 
you'll  enjoy  the  boat-ride,"  he  added  pleasantly. 

"Opal  isn't  going,"  stated  Sefton  Woods, 
briefly. 

"Pardon  me,  Woods,"  begged  Willie,  staring 
with  disagreeable  superiority  at  Sefton,  "but  I 
spoke  to  Miss  Opal." 

"And  as  Opal  isn't  going,"  cut  in  Sefton 
Woods,  "what  difference  can  it  make?" 

Willie  disdained  to  reply,  but  glared  stubbornly 
into  the  gloomy  depths  of  his  black  derby,  which 
he  held  in  his  hands. 

Sefton  Woods,  who  would  gladly  have  thrown 
Willie  Briggs  over  the  porch  railing  and  so  got 
53 


OPAL 

rid  of  him,  felt  that  he  had  taken  a  mean  ad- 
vantage of  Willie,  and  that  he  had  made  it  hard 
for  Opal,  who  nervously  filled  in  the  conversa- 
tional gap  with  comment  about  the  weather, 
till  Jed  lounged  out  and  broke  the  tension. 

Willie,  who  was  plainly  having  an  unpleasant 
time,  though  Sefton  bothered  him  no  more, 
would  not  go,  but  stayed  uncomfortably  on, 
till  Sefton  himself  dared  stay  no  longer.  So 
finally  they  got  up  together  to  say  good-night, 
inwardly  antagonistic,  but  outwardly  polite. 

Ma  Flickinger,  counting  her  cans,  had  quite 
forgotten  that  Opal  was  a  "finicky  graduated 
daughter"  or  that  Sefton  Woods  needed  watch- 
ing, and  as  she  ruminated  cheerfully  on  the 
munificent  gift  of  a  whole  case  of  fresh  straw- 
berries— for  nothing — she  resolved  to  do  a 
magnanimous  thing. 

"Opal,"  she  called,  "is  Seftie  gone?" 

"He's  just  started,"  answered  Opal. 

"Well,  Opal,  if  you're  goin'  up  to  Berrien 
Springs  to  that  Old  Folks's  picnic  with  Seftie, 
hadn't  you  better  call  him  back  and  tell  him  so  ? 
I  can't  say  'no'  in  the  face  of  them  strawberries," 
Ma  admitted.  "And  I  guess  Seftie's  a  well- 
meanin'  lad,  anyway,  he's  Jeddie's  friend. 
Remember,"  she  cautioned,  as  Opal  started 
54 


OPAL 

down  the  steps  in  the  pursuit  of  Sefton,  "it's 
really  as  a  gentleman  friend  of  your  brother's — 
no  beau  in  this." 

But  when  Opal  started  down  Bistle  Avenue, 
neither  Willie  nor  Sefton  was  in  sight,  though 
the  street  lamps  illuminated  that  deserted 
thoroughfare;  but  she  heard  the  sound  of  Fern 
Bistle's  light  laugh  from  their  rose-screened 
porch,  and  then  a  voice  that  she  knew  to  be 
Sef ton's.  For  a  moment  Opal  felt  unreason- 
ably hurt  to  think  that  he  had  stopped  there 
after  leaving  her ;  for  she  did  not  know  how  cun- 
ningly Fern  had  induced  him  to  come  in.  Then 
the  memory  of  his  having  thrown  away  the 
wilted  apple  blossoms  that  Fern  had  pinned  on 
his  coat  came  back  to  her,  and  she  softly  called 
to  him. 

Catching  up  his  hat  from  the  porch  floor,  he 
quickly  bid  good-night  to  Fern  and  came  eagerly 
across  the  lawn  to  Opal. 

"Oh,  Sefton,"  she  cried,  "I  can  go  to  the  pic- 
nic. Ma  says  I  can  go !" 

He  caught  her  gayly  in  his  arms  and  waltzed 
her  lightly  back  down  the  walk  to  the  Flick- 
ingers'  side  gate.  And  Opal,  swept  on  by  his 
impetuosity  in  a  whirl  of  delight,  forgot  that  she 
had  not  liked  his  stopping  at  Bistle's.  Then 
55 


OPAL 

with  a  swift  but  ardent  farewell,  that  had  Ma 
Flickinger  known  of  it  would  have  stopped  all 
plans  for  the  picnic,  he  left  her  at  once  so  that 
her  mother  might  not  find  fault  with  them  for 
lingering  at  the  gate  and  change  her  mind  about 
Opal's  going  to  the  picnic. 


Ill 

WILLIE'S    UPLIFT 

that  screen  door,  Jed,"  commanded 
Ma  Flickinger.  "Do  you  want  the  flies 
to  eat  you  up?" 

"I  am  a-shuttin'  it,"  returned  her  son,  "as 
soon  as  Snup  gits  all  in." 

"If  that  cat  'd  git  his  tail  squoze  onct,  he'd 
hurry  his  pegs  after  that,"  observed  Ma. 

"Pa  Flickinger,  in  his  shut-sleeves,  bent 
wearily  over  the  evening  paper.  "A  fire-bug  'd 
be  ashamed  to  show  such  a  glim  as  this'n," 
he  complained  of  the  glass  -  bangled  hanging- 
lamp. 

Jed,  who  was  also  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  grabbed 
the  other  half  of  the  paper,  and  pawed  it  over 
to  find  the  weather  report;  for,  being  a  farmer, 
he  had  a  keen,  though  disgruntled,  interest  in  the 
weather  man. 

"Opal,  what  've  you  got  your  hair  all  flossed 
out  like  a  wax  doll  for?"  inquired  Ma  Flickinger. 
57 


OPAL 

"I'll  betche,  Pa,  that  that  young  one  wastes 
three  hours  a  day  on  her  hair." 

"It  'd  be  nice  if  we'd  all  slick  up  a  little  every 
evening,"  hinted  Opal.  "Mr.  Bistle  never  sits 
down  in  the  evening  without  putting  on  his 
coat." 

"Woods'  folks  never  do,  neither,"  spoke  up 
Jed,  though  himself  unmoved  by  Opal's  hint. 
"Even  the  hired  man's  gotta  slick  up  when  he 
comes  to  the  table;  and  Mrs.  Woods'  hair  always 
looks  jest  so." 

"Land!  I  shouldn't  think  they'd  do  much 
else  but  trig  theirselves  out,"  criticised  Ma. 
"And  then  what  does  it  amount  to?  Your 
victuals  don't  taste  no  better." 

"Woods'  don't  know  any  difference,"  stated 
Jed.  "But  they're  mighty  fine  folks,  anyway; 
why,  Seftie  Woods  was  fetched  up  like  a  lady." 

"And  I  suppose  it's  on  account  of  your  ex- 
pectin'  Seftie  this  evenin'  that  all  this  agony  is 
wished,"  said  Ma;  "but  Seftie  needn't  think 
jest  'cause  I'm  goin'  to  let  you  ride  up  to  Berrien 
Springs  with  him  to  that  picnic  that  he's  comin' 
here  right  along  as  a  beau  to  you,  Miss  Opal — 
nor  to  none  of  us,"  added  Ma,  merely  for  em- 
phasis. 

' '  But  it  looks  so  for  Pa  and  Jed  to  sit  around 
58 


OPAL 

so  slouchy,"  criticised  Opal,  "whether  anybody 
comes  or  not;  and  for  you,  Ma,  to  go  without 
your  hair  combed  all  day." 

' '  I  comb  my  hair  when  I  git  up  in  the  mornin' 
— if  I  have  time — and  that's  enough,"  declared 
Ma. 

"But  you  could  brush  it  back  \vhen  it  sticks 
out  so — " 

"Opal!"  thundered  her  father  in  a  tremen- 
dous voice  that  he  used  only  when  rasped  to  the 
edge  of  desperation,  "cut  it  out." 

"She's  a-doin'  all  this  on  account  of  Sef 
Woods,"  cried  her  mother. 

"It  isn't  that!"  cried  Opal,  the  blood  rushing 
quickly  to  her  pale  cheeks,  "7  want  to  be  a  lady!" 

"A  lady!"  shouted  her  father,  hilariously,  as 
if  that  were  the  best  joke  he  had  heard  in  a 
month.  "Well,  listen  to  that,  Ma!  Wot's  the 
matter  with  you,  Opal?" 

"Huh!"  hemmed  Ma,  sarcastically. 

Jed  looked  quickly  at  his  sister;  but  he  did 
not  smile;  perhaps  he,  too,  secretly  nourished 
the  hidden  desire  to  be  a  real  gentleman. 

"I  ain't  never  considered  myself  nothin'  but 
a  lady,"  said  Ma,  with  more  force  than  elegance. 

"And  I  guess  if  Opal  'd  pattern  after  her  Ma 
that  she  wouldn't  be  more'n  a  mile  off,"  said  her 
59 


OPAL 

father,  making  his  wife  what  he  supposed  to  be 
a  very  strong  compliment. 

"You  don't  understand  just  what  I  mean," 
protested  poor  Opal. 

"No,  we  don't,"  cried  her  mother,  testily, 
"nor  we  don't  want  to." 

"Here's  Jed  that  sweat  his  way  through  col- 
lege; but  he  didn't  go  up  there  to  learn  to  be  a 
gentleman — which  is  jest  another  name  for 
sissy — by  a  long  sight,  he  went  there  to  learn  to 
farm,"  stated  her  father,  forcibly.  "You  don't 
hear  no  fool  talk  out'n  Jed's  head  about  wantin' 
to  be  a  gentleman." 

"But  Jed  wouldn't  say  anything  about  it,  even 
if  he  did  want  to  be  one,"  answered  Opal,  angry 
at  herself  for  exposing  her  secret  desire  to  her 
unsympathetic  parents. 

"I  know  this — clothes  and  conversation  ain't 
all  that  go  to  make  a  gentleman,"  remarked  Jed, 
unexpectedly,  as  if  the  subject  under  discussion 
were  one  to  which  he  had  given  considerable 
anxious  thought. 

"Land!  how  we  fuss,"  complained  Ma.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  we  can't  git  together  of  an 
evenin'  now  but  what  somethin'  disagreeable 
comes  up.  Lemme  see,  what  was  Opal  a-hetche- 
lin'  us  about  this  time?" 
60 


OPAL 

"Listen  to  the  newspaper,"  ordered  Jed;  "it 
says  that  Willie  Briggs  is  goin'  to  make  a  speech 
at  the  Berrien  Springs  picnic,  and — " 

"That  makes  me  think,"  interrupted  Ma, 
"that  I  met  Willie  when  I  was  comin'  home 
from  store,  and  he  ast  was  Opal  goin'  to  be  to 
home  this  evenin',  so  I  had  to  ast  him  over  to  set 
awhile.  He'll  be  here  before  long." 

' '  If  Willie  comes,  I'll  go  right  over  to  Sophie's," 
threatened  Opal. 

"No,  you  won't,"  vetoed  her  mother.  "He 
says  he's  goin'  to  teach  at  Stump's  Corners,  and 
that  the  next  school  ain't  got  no  teacher  yit. 
You  ast  him  about  it.  I  want  you  to  teach 
school." 

"There  ain't  hardly  a  night  in  the  paper  but 
what  Willie  Briggs  is  goin'  to  read  from  some 
'beloved  poet'  or  make  a  speech,"  complained 
Jed. 

"Which  shows  that  Willie  has  his  moral 
courage  by  him,"  defended  Ma.  "I  betche,  Jed, 
if  you  tried  to  speak  a  piece  at  the  Opry  House, 
or  anywhere  else,  where  you'd  have  to  do  cryin' 
parts  and  laughin'  parts  like  Willie  does,  that 
your  knees  'd  give  out  and  your  tongue  clapper 
to  the  roof  of  your  mouth  without  givin'  any 
sound." 

5  61 


OPAL 

"If  I  knowed  one  place  where  Willie  wa'n't 
goin'  to  speak — that's  the  place  I'd  go  to,"  con- 
tributed Pa,  with  considerable  spirit.  "Besides, 
he's  never  got  nothin'  to  say." 

"But  he  loves  to  say  it,"  added  Jed. 

"And  when  Willie  makes  a  durned  fool  of 
hisself,"  went  on  Pa,  "the  daily  paper  comes  out 
in  glarin'  head -lines,  sayin'  he  has  surpassed 
hisself,  and  prophesies  a  brilliant  future  for  the 
wordy  little  rat." 

"I  don't  know  what  speakin'  a  piece  '11  do 
to  Willie's  future;  but  it  wouldn't  add  many 
bright  days  to  mine,"  stated  Jed,  dryly. 

"There's  Willie,  now,  Opal.  I  know  his  lady- 
like tap,  tap,  on  the  screen  door,"  said  their 
mother.  "Remember,  and  ast  him  about  the 
school.  .  .  . 

"Land  o'  Goshen!  Willie's  all  togged  out  in  his 
Sunday  black,"  informed  Ma,  as  she  caught  sight 
of  Willie  when  Opal  went  out.  "What's  got 
into  Willie?" 

"Maybe  he's  come  a-courtin',"  suggested  Jed. 

"Willie  Briggs?  Land,  no,"  laughed  Ma; 
"he's  a  widow's  only  son,  and  brung  up  to  think 
of  his  Ma  afore  anything  else.  Willie's  jest 
an  old  schoolmate  of  Opal's,  and  a  neighbor's 
boy." 

62 


OPAL 

"When  was  you  and  Mrs.  Briggs  neighbors, 
Ma?"  asked  Jed. 

"She  lives  in  the  next  block  on  Bistle  Avenue." 

"But  she's  never  called  on  you,"  reminded 
Jed,  unexpectedly  revealing  that  he  noticed 
such  social  inattention. 

"No,  but  I've  met  her  at  our  Longfeller  Club 
on  Rec'procity  Day.  She's  presidunt  of  the 
Elder  Bloom  Society,  and  she  says  to  me  that 
she  thought  Longfeller  was  a  lovely  man." 

"It's  all  right  for  her  to  hob-nob  with  you  over 
Longfellow,  he  can't  object  to  it  now;  but  her 
callin'  on  you's  another  thing." 

"I  never  knowed  afore,  Jed,  that  you  was  so 
keen  to  have  your  mother  go  into  society," 
grinned  Pa. 

"I  ain't;  I'm  only  showin'  that  we  don't  owe 
the  Briggses  anything ;  and  if  Willie  pesters  Opal 
by  hangin'  round — and  then  wants  to  marry 
her,"  said  Jed,  bluntly,  "you  won't  feel  so 
funny." 

"Willie  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  as- 
sured Ma. 

"I  dunno  about  that,"  allowed  Jed's  father; 
"he'd  be  jest  the  kind  to  bring  home  a  wife  for 
his  ma  to  feed." 

"Land!  shut  up,"  cried  Ma.  "Croak,  croak, 
63 


OPAL 

croak.  Gimme  a  piece  of  that  there  paper  to 
read." 

Willie  Briggs,  sitting  on  the  front  porch  with 
Opal  in  the  full  glare  of  the  electric  street  light, 
was  immaculate  with  shining  linen  and  pain- 
fully smoothed  hair.  And  though  he  was  a  large 
young  man,  his  black  suit  made  him  look  more 
boyish  than  usual,  accentuating  his  fat,  rosy 
cheeks  and  gleaming  freckles. 

"I  have  been  reading,"  he  was  telling  Opal, 
"a  grand  book  on  character  building;  and  I 
thought  maybe  Jed  would  like  to  read  it.  It's 
a  great  moral  awakener — not  that  I  need  it 
myself." 

"But  Jed  is  so  busy,"  murmured  Opal,  not 
pleased  at  Willie's  condescension  toward  her 
brother. 

"No  one  should  ever  be  too  busy  to  read  a 
good  book.  Time  spent  in  self -improvement  is 
well  spent." 

"Yes,  I  believe  that,"  agreed  Opal,  readily, 
thinking  of  her  family;  "but  how  are  you  going 
to  interest  people  that  don't  care  to  change  ?" 

"Present  the  subject  of  self -improvement  to 
them,  present  the  subject,"  repeated  Willie, 
ministerially. 

"But  suppose  you  do,  and  they  won't  listen— 
64 


OPAL 

or  are  angry,"  said  Opal,  so  miserable  over  the 
shortcomings  of  her  family  that  she  could  not 
help  talking  about  it,  though  she  did  not  intend 
Willie  to  know  that  she  alluded  to  her  own  folks. 

"Then  something  must  be  wrong  with  your 
presentation,"  Willie's  chubby  face  glowed  with 
ardor.  It  was  in  such  a  high  moral  atmosphere 
that  he  felt  perfectly  at  home. 

"Maybe  that's  it,"  assented  Opal;  "but  how 
can  you  make  people  see  that  their  lives  ought 
to  be  more  refined  without  constantly  offending 
them?" 

' '  Example, ' '  stated  Willie,  with  glowing  brevity. 

"I  suppose  so,"  sighed  Opal. 

"Conversation — with  the  truth  you  wish  to 
impress  judiciously  contained  in  it,"  advised 
Willie,  as  if  speaking  of  sugar-coated  medicine. 
"I  often,"  he  added  modestly,  "say  some  little 
thing  that  bears  fruit  afterward  toward  higher 
living." 

"And  I  think  it's  everybody's  duty  to  learn 
as  much  as  he  can,  and  not  be  prejudiced  and 
narrow  and  always  in  the  same  old  rut." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  assented  Willie,  smugly. 

"And  it  ought  to  be  done  little  by  little,  I 
suppose,  so  they  scarcely  know  they  are  im- 
proving." 

65 


OPAL 

' '  Certainly, ' '  was  Willie 's  glib  response.  ' '  And 
I  see,  Opal,  that  you've  got  the  right  idea  about 
life — it's  progress  that  counts,  progress,"  re- 
peated Willie,  giving  "o"  the  long  sound,  and 
thereby  making  the  word  seem  trebly  important 
with  this  inflated  pronunciation. 

"And  it  takes  only  a  little  more  effort  to  make 
things  go  right  than  it  does  to  let  them  go 
wrong,"  declared  Opal,  who  was  striving  un- 
happily for  perfection. 

"I  feel,  Opal,  that  this  will  be  a  memorable 
year  for  me,"  said  Willie,  suddenly  beginning  to 
talk  about  himself,  always  his  favorite  subject 
of  conversation.  "Everything  is  conspiring  to 
make  it  memorable,"  he  went  on  blandly — "my 
first  year  as  school-teacher — my  twenty-first 
birthday — my  first  vote.  And  your  asking  me 
about  uplifting  your  family  just  fits  in  nicely 
with  the  purpose  of  my  call." 

Opal  was  astonished,  for  she  did  not  sup- 
pose that  Willie  knew  that  she  referred  to  her 
parents. 

"I  have  something  pretty  important  to  say 
to  you,  Opal;  in  fact" — here  Willie  reached  over 
and,  much  to  Opal's  surprise  and  embarrassment, 
took  her  hand — "I  have  always  respected  you" 
— which  was  not  at  all  what  he  had  meant  to 
66 


OPAL 

tell  her.  And  Opal,  inwardly  protesting,  dared  not 
snatch  away  her  hand. 

"And  I'm  going  to  ask  you — "  Willie  was  be- 
ginning again,  when  the  sound  of  wagon- wheels 
broke  the  evening's  stillness,  and,  perched  on 
the  high  seat  of  his  old  berry  rack,  and  wearing 
a  great  straw  hat,  came  Sefton  Woods,  on  his 
way  home  from  the  dock.  He  had  driven  around 
to  Flickinger's  with  the  intention  of  calling. 

Opal  was  sitting  so  that  she  could  not  see  the 
team,  which  turned  down  Bistle  Avenue;  but 
Sefton  Woods  saw  Opal,  and  the  painful  tableau 
of  Willie  Briggs  holding  her  hand  was  vividly 
illuminated  by  the  street  light.  As  Willie  for- 
mally bowed,  Sefton  toolc  off  his  old  straw  hat 
with  elaborate  politeness,  and  went  by  without 
stopping. 

Spurred  on  by  the  sight  of  his  rival,  Willie 
Briggs  blurted  out, ' '  I  was  going  to  say — that  is — 
Opal,  you  can  marry  me,"  and  the  ends  of  his  fair, 
plastered  hair  were  dark  with  honest  perspiration. 

Opal  drew  her  hand  quickly  away.  "Who 
went  by?"  she  asked  uneasily. 

"Merely  an  acquaintance,"  answered  Willie, 
speaking  for  himself. 

"Why,  I  thought,"  began  Opal,  "maybe  it 
was — " 

67 


OPAL 

"It  was  a  person  that  doesn't  signify,"  quickly 
interrupted  Willie.  Then  he  continued,  "Yes, 
I've  decided  to  get  married.  And  mother  has 
finally  given  her  consent  to  my  marrying  you — 
would  the  first  of  September  be  early  enough? 
I  couldn't  make  arrangements  any  sooner." 

"But  Willie—"  Opal  began  to  protest. 

"No  need  of  a  definite  answer  now.  Give 
yourself  time,"  advised  Willie,  as  if  his  con- 
descending to  marry  a  Flickinger  was  rather 
overpowering  to  Opal  just  at  first. 

"Time  will  make  no  difference,"  Opal  told  him, 
with  a  finality  in  her  tone  that  a  more  sensitive 
person  would  have  understood. 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  know  it  will,"  assured 
Willie.  "Why,  you'll  make  just  the  wife  for 
me,"  for  he  seemed  to  labor  under  the  delusion 
that  Opal  probably  thought  herself  unworthy 
of  him.  "You  have  a  sweet  disposition,  you've 
been  brought  up  to  do  housework;  besides,  you 
have  a  progressive  mind;  in  fact,  you  have  all 
the  qualities  that  will  make  you  an  excellent 
wife.  I've  explained  it  all  to  mother;  she  didn't 
just  take  to  the  idea  at  first." 

"Oh,  Willie,  I'm  sorry  you  asked  me, "said 
Opal,  very  seriously.  "I  don't  want  to  get 
married." 

68 


OPAL 

"You  will,  though,  when  you  think  what  a 
benefit  it  '11  be  to  you  and  your  folks  to  be 
connected  with  us.  Why,  we're  one  of  the  old 
families.  And  Mrs.  Samuel  Apsley  Brown,  my 
aunt,  is  the  social  leader  of  this  town." 

"Oh,  please  don't  talk  about  it  any  more," 
pleaded  Opal. 

"Some  other  folks  may  be  more  spectacular 
than  I  am,  but  I  assure  you  that  they  haven't  the 
staying  qualities  that  I  have,"  persisted  Willie, 
and  Opal  knew  that  he  referred  to  Sefton  Woods. 

"But  I  couldn't  think  of  it  now — or  ever," 
said  Opal. 

"You  surely  must  understand  the  worth  of 
what  I'm  offering  you." 

"I  can't  help  my  feelings,"  declared  Opal, 
annoyed  at  his  persistency.  "Besides,  you're 
so  young." 

"Young!"  echoed  Willie,  getting  very  red  in 
the  face. 

"And  I  know  I  shouldn't  be  happy  with  you," 
stated  Opal,  plainly. 

"There  is  something  above  mere  happiness," 
argued  Willie,  gloomily;  "you  should  consider 
your  highest  good,  your  duty  to  yourself." 

"I  am,"  asserted  Opal,  with  more  spirit  than 
she  usually  showed. 

69 


OPAL 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  are  not,"  contradicted 
Willie,  in  a  disagreeable  voice,  for  he  was  con- 
siderably put  out.  "Besides,  by  helping  your- 
self you  would  help  your  family,  and  you  know 
how  much  they  lack  polish  and  refinement." 

Opal  said  nothing,  but  she  did  not  relish  having 
her  own  thoughts  about  her  parents  put  into 
plain  words. 

"Of  course  I  am  not  including  you  in  this," 
added  Willie,  more  pleasantly.  "You  could  be 
coached  by  mother  and  me  for  society.  When 
we're  married,  mother  11  have  a  little  reception 
and  introduce  you  to  the  members  of  the  Elder 
Bloom  Club — the  real  culture  club  of  this  town; 
then  Mrs.  Apsley  Brown's  daughter  '11  propose 
you  for  the  Daughters  of  the  Elder  Blooms. 
We're  going  to  live  with  mother ;  and  this  winter 
when  I  get  to  teaching  school,  you  can  have 
everything  that  heart  could  wish." 

Opal  could  not  help  but  smile  at  this  last 
remark  of  Willie's,  but  he  was  so  absorbed 
that  he  did  not  notice,  and  then  she  told 
him  bluntly:  "But,  Willie,  I  can't  possibly 
marry  you — because  I  don't  care  enough  for 
you." 

"If  that's  all,"  cried  Willie  in  a  gush  of  cor- 
diality, "we  can  change  all  that." 
70 


OPAL 

"No,  you  don't  understand.  I  never  could 
care  enough — now." 

"What!"  demanded  Willie,  plainly  ruffled, 
"do  you  mean  to  say,  Opal,  that  you  have  let 
what  is  just  a  summer  flirtation  influence  you?" 
It  had  evidently  influenced  Willie,  for  he  con- 
tinued: "And  I  can't  help  but  feel  that  you 
have  been  listening  to  a  trifler.  I  name  no 
names,  but  he  lives  in  the  country — and  he  takes 
life  lightly."  Willie  spoke  as  if  to  take  life 
lightly  were  the  one  unpardonable  sin. 

"We  don't  need  to  talk  about  him  at  all," 
broke  in  Opal,  quickly,  knowing  that  Willie 
referred  to  Sefton  Woods. 

"I  could  count  five  girls  that  he  has  acted  to 
just  as  he  has  to  you,"  went  on  Willie,  stub- 
bornly ;  "and  you'll  live  to  see  him  act  that  way 
to  five  more.  If  you  don't  see  him  drive  by 
here  with  a  different  girl  in  his  buggy  inside  of 
ten  days,  I'm  no  prophet." 

"I  don't  think  that  way,"  denied  Opal, 
though  she  could  not  help  but  wonder  if  Fern 
Bistle  had  been  one  of  those  five  girls. 

"And  I  don't  go  'round  making  eyes  at  every 
girl  I  see;  I  ain't  no  trifler,"  for  once  Willie  fell 
into  familiar  speech  in  his  earnestness.  "Then 
there  is  your  duty  to  your  folks — let  alone  your- 


OPAL 

self,"  he  reminded  her.  "Your  parents  are,  to 
say  the  least — illiterate,"  informed  Willie,  sol- 
emly,  as  if  referring  to  a  criminal  offence. 

The  angry  red  deepened  in  Opal's  usually  pale 
cheeks,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"And  though  Jed  has  had  a  few  years  at  the 
Agricultural  College,  he  lacks  polish.  I  am  sure 
I  could  help  Jed;  that  boy's  got  good  stuff  in 
him,"  conceded  Willie,  patronizingly,  "though  he 
is  a  sort  of  clod  when  it  comes  to  good  manners." 

The  lilac  bushes  beside  the  porch  now  began 
to  sway  gently.  "The  wind  must  be  rising;" 
noticed  Willie.  "And  I'll  show  Jed  that  a  boor 
is  never  welcome  in  society;  I  must  get  him 
into  our  ethical  club,  that  '11  be  one  refining  influ- 
ence. Oh,  I'm  sure  I  can  polish  Jed  up.  I  must 
have  a  good  talk  with  Jed  on  just  what  he  needs. 
And  I  think  I  can  do  a  little  missionary  work  for 
your  nephew  Clarence,  or  Butch  as  you  call  him." 
Here  the  lilac  bushes  swished  violently.  "It 
probably  will  rain  if  this  continues,"  declared 
Willie,  then  he  added,  "it  won't  bore  me  a  bit  to 
help  Clarence;  I'll  gladly  do  any  old  disagree- 
able thing  for  you  on  account  of  your  being  in 
our  family.  And  now  it  seems  to  me,  Opal, 
as  if  this  is  about  the  best  thing  for  you — and 
your  family — that  has  ever  come  your  way." 
72 


OPAL 

"But,  Willie — "  began  Opal,  determinedly. 

Willie  cut  her  short:  "I  just  won't  take 
'no*  for  an  answer — think  it  over.  And  I 
wouldn't  say  a  word  against  you  know  who,  if 
I  wasn't  sure  that  he  is  a  trifler;  because  per- 
sonally I  like  him.  He  has  a  brilliant — though 
shallow — mind,"  Willie  added,  struggling  to  be 
just. 

"Opal  don't  care  how  long  Seftie  Woods  holds 
her  hand,"  sang  out  a  husky  voice  tauntingly, 
and  little  Butch  Fanner,  a  man  in  size  but  a  boy 
in  years,  bobbed  up  on  the  porch  from  behind 
the  lilac  bush. 

"Oh,  Butch,"  cried  Opal,  "go  away!  Don't 
mind  him,  Willie;  he  does  it  just  to  tease  you." 

' '  Whatever  he  does  it  for,  it  can  have  no  effect 
on  me,"  returned  Willie,  his  chubby  cheeks 
brick-red  with  anger.  "But  an  eavesdropper, 
Clarence — " 

"Aw,  cut  it  out,"  advised  Butch.  "Opal's 
sweet  on  Seftie,  she  is." 

"Butch,  stop,  please  stop,"  pleaded  Opal. 

"Don't  you  take  nothin'  off'n  Opal,  Willie; 
if  she  says  she  ain't  sweet  on  Seftie  she's  kiddin' 
you,"  declared  Butch. 

"Butch,  I'll  tell  your  grandmother  if  you  don't 
stop." 

73 


OPAL 

"I'll  tell  her  myself.  Gramma!"  yelled  the 
irrepressible  Butch,  "Willie  Briggs  is  tryin'  to 
git  hisself  engaged  to  Opal." 

"In  such  an  environment  as  this,  how  can 
there  be — any — progress?"  sputtered  Willie, 
hastily  jerking  on  his  gloves.  "Such  a  person- 
ality as  Butch's  is — death — to — any — refined 
feeling." 

"Aw,  listen,  Gramma,"  exulted  Butch,  loudly; 
"here's  little  Willie  Briggs  a-usin'  language." 

"Butch!"  cried  Ma  Flickinger,  appearing 
scandalized  at  the  front  door,  "come  right  in 
here,  sir.  How  dare  you  talk  so  to  Willie  ?  You 
ought  to  be  cuffed!"  And  his  grandmother 
dragged  him  in,  laughing  and  protesting,  shoved 
him  into  a  chair  in  the  sitting-room  and  slammed 
the  door. 

"Shame  yourself,  Butcii,  to  act  like  a  young 
hoodlum  to  Opal's  gentleman  friend,"  admon- 
ished Ma,  severely. 

"Friend  nothin',"  scorned  Butch,  in  no  way 
squelched;  "he's  askin'  Opal  to  marry  him." 

"No!"  exclaimed  Ma  in  a  shocked  voice. 
"Don't  tell  me  that!" 

"Sometimes,  Butch,  you  carry  your  joshin'  a 
leetle  too  fur,"  blamed  his  grandfather. 

"  'Tain't  no  josh,  Grandpa,  honest,  hope  to  die; 
74 


OPAL 

I  was  a-listenin'  by  the  lilac  bush,  and  he  ast  Opal 
about  marryin'  him,  and  he  said  what  they'd  do 
when  they  was  married." 

"Didn't  I  say  so?"  triumphed  Jed. 

"But  who'd  'a'  thunk  it?"  demanded  Pa, 
displeased. 

"I'm  clean  besnizzled — I  dunno  what  to  say 
or  think,"  remarked  Ma  in  a  dazed  way. 

"And  first  he  helt  Opal's  hand,"  informed 
Butch. 

"Listen  to  that,  Ma,"  grinned  Jed. 

"And  he  says — "  continued  Butch. 

"Shut  yourself  right  up,  sir,"  commanded  Ma; 
"we  don't  want  no  eavesdroppin'  tales  here." 

"Aw,  let  Butch  tell  it,  Ma ;  what  harm  '11  it  do  ?" 

" 'Tain't  polite,"  defended  his  mother. 

"What  Willie  said  was  polite,  I'll  betche,"  ob- 
served Pa. 

"Aw,  come  on,  Ma;  what  d'  you  care?  Let 
Butch  tell  it,"  coaxed  Jed. 

"But  it  looks  so,"  protested  Ma,  "for  us  to  be 
pickin'  Willie's  remarks  out'n  Butch  second- 
hand. What  say,  Pa?" 

"What's  the  harm?"  grinned  Pa.  "Opal's 
our  girl — mebbe  we  ought  to  know  how  't  is." 

"But  if  anything  disagreeable  comes  of  it," 
said  Ma,  "you  can  remember  that  I  wa'n't  one 
75 


OPAL 

bit  in  favor  of  it.     And  make  it  short,  Butch, 
if  you're  bound  to  tell  it." 

"First  Willie  helt  Opal's  hand  and  spiel t 
away  on  how  much  he  respected  her,"  narrated 
Butch. 

"Nothin'  fierce  in  that,"  grinned  Jed. 

"But  I  can't  make  it  seem  right  for  us  to  be 
listenin'  to  Willie's  love-makin'  second-hand," 
worried  Ma. 

"  'Twa'n't  love,"  denied  Butch.  "And  Willie's 
got  it  in  for  you,  Jed;  he  says  you're  tumble 
woodsy." 

"Aw,  the  dumb-head!"  cried  Jed. 

"And  he  says  you  need  polishin'  up,"  con- 
tinued Butch. 

"Mebbe  my  grammar  machine  ain't  so  well 
oiled  as  his'n;  but,  shucks!"  laughed  Jed, 
"what's  the  use  of  gettin'  mad  at  Willie?  His 
Ma's  made  a  little  man  of  him — he  don't  know 
no  better." 

"Wot  do  you  care  for  a  starched  hop-toad  like 
Briggs,  Jed?"  inquired  Pa,  scornfully. 

"Nothin',"  answered  Jed,  good-naturedly. 

"And  Willie  says  he'll  be  glad  to  polish  you 
up  hisself." 

"Polish  Jed  up,"  sniffed  Ma.  "Jed's  as  sharp 
as  a  needle  now." 

76 


OPAL 

"And  he  says  the  Flickingers  ain't  anybody 
'cause  they  ain't  a  old  family,"  remembered 
Butch. 

"Listen  to  that!"  cried  Pa,  violently.  "Ain't 
a  old  family!  Well,  I  was  here  afore  the  canal 
was." 

"I  dunno  but  some  of  the  old  families  'd  look 
frazzled  out  alongside  us  Flickingers,"  remarked 
Ma. 

"But  to  be  trod  on  by  a  young  man  with  an 
empty  pod  for  a  head,"  fumed  Pa. 

"And  he  says  if  he  marries  Opal  that  it  '11 
help  the  Flickingers  to  be  somebody." 

"I  guess  yes — "  snorted  Pa,  indignantly. 

"And  it  tickled  me  to  death  to  hear  Willie  call 
Seftie  Woods  names,"  chuckled  Butch.  "And 
Seftie  he's  goin'  to  suffer  yit  for  the  way  he 
pounded  me  onct." 

"Shut  that  up,  Butch,"  commanded  Jed; 
"Seftie  didn't  pound  you,  but  I  wish  he  had." 

"Butch  is  always  a-carryin'  a  grudge  ag'in 
somebody,"  declared  Ma.  "But  when  Seftie 
Woods  and  Opal  ride  by  Willie's  house  in  Seftie's 
horse  and  buggy  on  their  way  to  the  picnic 
Wednesday,  it  'd  do  me  a  pile  of  good  to  know 
that  Willie  saw  'em,"  laughed  Ma. 

"Hear  that,  Opal?"  asked  Jed,  as  Opal  came 
6  77 


OPAL 

into  the  sitting-room  after  a  prolonged  and  im- 
portunate farewell  from  Willie  Briggs. 

"If  you'd  hollered  to  your  Pa,  Opal,  I'd 
'a'  come  out  and  tended  to  the  young  hop-toad," 
her  father  told  her. 

"When  I  was  a  girl,"  said  Ma,  unexpectedly, 
"and  a  feller  begun  to  git  funny,  I  begun  to  git 
froze ;  Opal,  you  might  of.  And  I  don't  suppose 
you  ast  him  a  word  about  the  school,  either." 

"I  never  thought  of  it,"  confessed  Opal. 

"What  'd  you  let  him  ask  you  for,  anyway, 
Opal?"  blamed  Jed.  "Why  didn't  you  turn 
him  down?" 

"But  he  wouldn't  stop,"  cried  Opal,  almost 
in  tears,  "he  would  go  on;  he  couldn't  get  it 
into  his  head  that  I  wouldn't  marry  him.  And 
he  talked  so  mean  about  all  of  you — I  won't  stand 
it  to  have  anybody  run  down  my  folks." 

"You've  been  a-singin'  pretty  nigh  the  same 
song  as  Willie  Briggs  about  our  talk,  and  havin' 
scurcely  no  manners,  and  a-bein'  slouchy,  Opal," 
reminded  her  mother,  dryly. 

"Maybe  I  have,"  admitted  Opal;  "but  I 
didn't  mean  it  the  way  Willie  did." 

"And  what's  a  graduated  daughter  for?"  in- 
quired her  father,  loyally,  "if  it  ain't  to  use  her 
education  on  her  folks?  Opal's  gotta  right  to 
78 


OPAL 

open  her  head  on  any  old  subject  a-goin'  in  her 
own  family." 

"And  I  don't  thank  anybody  for  saying  that 
our  Jed  is  coarse  and  needs  polishing,"  cried 
Opal,  all  the  more  miserable  because  she  herself 
had  criticised  her  family.  "Just  think  how  Jed 
earned  his  money  and  went  to  school.  He's 
always  worked  hard  and  sacrificed  without  a 
bit  of  pleasure."  And  Jed's  blunt  features 
glowed  with  a  curious  satisfaction.  Very  few 
people  had  ever  praised  Jed. 

"And  Willie  Briggs  don't  have  nothin'  to  do 
but  to  set  in  his  glass  case  and  preen  his  feathers," 
added  Pa.  "But  who  cares  wot  Mr.  Hop-toad 
says,  anyway?" 

"I  do,"  answered  Opal,  warmly,  "because  Jed 
has  developed  his  character.  Jed  is  manly. ' ' 

"Why,  our  Jeddie's  growin'  good-lookin', 
actually,"  exclaimed  Ma,  struck  by  her  son's 
glowing  face,  for  his  strong  features  were  illu- 
mined with  some  inner  feeling  that  was  trans- 
figuring. "  If  he  keeps  on  he'll  be  almost  as  well- 
favored  as  his  brother  Bill." 

"Bill!"  snorted  Jed,  scornfully. 

"Shucks,  Ma,  Jed's  humblier  than  I  be,"  dis- 
paraged Pa. 

"But  I  never  took  you  for  a  humbly  man, 
79 


OPAL 

particularly,"  contended  Ma.  "Your  features 
may  no  all  be  on  the  plumb,  but  it's  what's  back 
of  your  face  that  I  look  at." 

"And  he  said  that  Ma  and  Pa  were  illiterate," 
began  Opal. 

"What's  that?"  Ma  wanted  to  know. 

"It  means  woodsy — and  more,"  explained  Pa. 

"Who'd  ever  'a'  thought  the  little  tyke  'd 
have  such  unchristian  feelin's  toward  us  who've 
never  harmed  a  hair  of  his  head?"  said  Ma. 
"Land  o'  Livin'!  where's  that  there  Butch? 
Did  anybody  see  him  go  into  my  pantry?"  she 
exclaimed  apprehensively. 

"Butch's  home  by  this  time,"  assured  Jed. 

"I  won't  have  my  folks  called  illiterate," 
declared  Opal.  "Why,  Pa's  superintendent  of 
his  part  of  the  factory.  And  everybody  respects 
Pa — he's  never  done  anything  but  good  to  any- 
body in  all  his  life." 

At  this  loyal  tribute  to  Pa's  superiority,  Ma 
openly  wiped  her  eyes. 

"What  're  you  on  the  p'int  of  bellerin'  for, 
Old  Woman?"  demanded  her  husband. 

"It  makes  me  feel  so  good  to  hear  Opal  talkin' 
like  a  human  bein',  and  not  continually  findin' 
fault  with  us,"  said  Ma. 

"And  I  won't  have  my  mother  looked  down 
80 


OPAL 

on, ' '  went  on  Opal.  ' '  See  how  hard  Ma's  always 
worked ;  she's  never  had  time  to  go  into  society 
like  Willie  Briggs's  mother." 

"And  Ma  knows  more  in  a  minute  than  Willie's 
mother'll  ever  be  able  to  get  into  her  frizzle-top 
as  long  as  she  lives,"  declared  Jed. 

"Who'd  trade  our  Ma  for  Missus  Briggs?" 
demanded  Pa,  scornfully.  "Why,  Missus  Briggs 
has  brung  up  her  only  son  to  be  a  sissy." 

"I  dunno  jest  what  a  sissy  is,"  confessed  Ma; 
"but  it  don't  sound  like  nothin'  I'd  stand  for." 


IV 

TUGGIN'    TO    BE    GENTEEL 

A /THOUGH  it  was  with  reluctance  that 
Ma  Flickinger  had  consented  to  Opal's 
going  with  Sefton  Woods  to  the  picnic 
which  was  to  be  held  at  Berrien  Springs,  the  more 
she  thought  of  the  invitation,  the  more  she  felt 
the  honor  of  it.  For  Sefton  Woods'  father  was  a 
wealthy  farmer,  and  from  scraps  of  Opal's  and 
Jed's  conversation  which  she  had  overheard, 
she  knew  that  Sefton  was  invited  to  the  best 
homes  in  town;  and  while  Ma  always  sniffed 
contemptuously  at  such  preferment,  it  was  not 
lost  upon  her,  but  made  the  invitation  to  Opal 
twice  as  important  in  her  eyes.  But  after  a 
careful  survey  of  Opal's  scanty  wardrobe,  she 
decided  that  it  contained  nothing  fit  to  wear. 

"Opal,  you  can't  go  to  that  there  picnic  to 
Berrien  Springs  after  all,"  declared  her  mother, 
regretfully,  ' '  'cause  you  ain't  got  nothin'  fit 
to  wear.** 

82 


OPAL 

"Oh,  there  must  be  something  I  can  wear," 
cried  Opal,  anxiously. 

"I'd  like  to  toggle  you  up  something  respect- 
able," affirmed  her  mother,  "but  it  can't  be  did." 

"My  old  white  dress — "  began  Opal. 

"Don't  mention  it;  it's  mended  to  pieces  now. 
And  what  with  iron  rust  and  shrinkin'  and  old- 
fashioned  sleeves,  it's  pretty  nigh  gone  up." 

"Maybe  Pa'd  let  me  buy  a  new  dress.  I  could 
make  it  myself.  I  promised  Seftie  I'd  go." 

"And  so  did  I,  and  you  oughter  go  now  on 
account  of  them  strawberries;  it  looks  tight  to 
take  so  much  off'n  a  person  and  then  not  give 
nothin'  in  return.  Land!  I  wisht  you  wa'n't 
grown  up ;  here  you're  a  young  lady  and  want  in' 
to  go  places,  and  nothin'  to  wear.  But  I  know 
what  your  Pa'll  say — he  can't  afford  it." 

"Hello!"  shrilled  a  feminine  voice.  "Stop 
gabblin'  and  leave  me  in." 

When  Opal  had  unhooked  the  screen  door, 
her  married  sister,  Jule  Peebles,  hurried  in  and 
flopped  into  the  nearest  rocker.  She  wore  a  much- 
bedraggled  petticoat  of  dingy  black  for  a  skirt, 
and  a  lank  dressing-sack  of  gaudy  Persian  pattern. 

"That  skirt  don't  look  very  dressy,  Jule," 
criticised  her  mother. 

"Oh,  I  come  'cross  lots,"  answered  Jule,  easily. 
83 


OPAL 

"And  say,  Ma,  I  met  my  own  brother,  Billie 
Flickinger,  this  mornin',  and  I  hollered  out 
friendly-like,  'Hello,  Cabbage-head,'  and  he 
fired  back  jest  as  sassy,  'Hello,  Pepper- head.' 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

"He  just  did  it  to  tease  you,"  assured  Opal. 

"That's  all  right,  Miss,  stand  up  for  Billie," 
cried  Jule,  aggrievedly.  "And  I  suppose,  Opal, 
you're  feelin'  tumble  swell  jest  'cause  you're 
goin'  up  to  Berrien  Springs  picnic  in  Seftie 
Woods's  horse  and  buggy." 

"Opal  ain't  a-goin',"  stated  her  mother. 

"Seftie  gotta  'nother  girl  already  ?"  questioned 
Jule,  greedily. 

"No;  'tain't  Seftie's  fault;  she  ain't  got  no 
decent  duds  to  wear,"  enlightened  her  mother. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  I've  got  to  wear, 
either — even  if  I  had  any  place  to  wear  it  to," 
said  Jule,  bitterly.  "But  one  thing  I  do  know; 
I  ain't  never  goin'  over  to  Sophie's  and  Billie's 
any  more." 

"I  wouldn't  let  a  little  josh  like  'pepper-head' 
keep  you  from  goin'  to  see  Billie's  wife,  Jule," 
reproved  Ma.  "Sophie  ain't  to  blame  for 
Billie's  actions." 

"But  I  ain't  no  pepper-head,"  disclaimed  Jule, 
indignantly,  "and  Billie  he  knows  it." 
84 


OPAL 

"But  don't  hurt  Sophie's  feelin's  by  stayin' 
away,"  urged  Ma. 

"I  should  'a'  thought  Sophie'd  'a'  saw  through 
Bill  long  afore  she  ever  married  him,"  observed 
Jule. 

"Well,  if  Billie  is  a  thought  overbearin'  and 
independent,  he's  gotta  good  heart,"  said  his 
mother,  loyally,  "and  he  wouldn't  hurt  a  rabbit." 

"Who'd  want  to  hurt  a  rabbit?"  demanded 
Jule,  scornfully,  and  started  for  the  door. 

"What's  your  hurry,  Jule?"  demanded  her 
mother. 

"I  jest  run  over  to  tell  you  how  mean  Billie 
treated  me;  but  I  wisht  now  I  hadn't  come, 
seein'  everything  I  do  is  wrong,  and  everything 
Billie  does  is  right,"  ended  Jule,  shrilly,  and  dis- 
appeared down  the  street. 

"Land!  how  disagreeable  everything  is,"  cried 
Ma  Flickinger  when  Jule  was  gone;  "here's  Jule 
actin'  like  tunket;  and  here's  you,  Opal,  havin* 
no  duds  to  wear  to  the  picnic.  And  t'other  night 
there  was  Willie  Briggs  a-blabbin'  about  our  not 
bein'  nobody.  And  I  don't  believe  I'd  ast  your 
Pa  for  a  new  dress,  'cause  that  'd  make  every- 
thing more  disagreeable 'n  ever." 

But  Opal  could  not  give  up  the  idea  of  a  new 
dress,  and  so  as  soon  as  her  father  and  Jed  were 
85 


OPAL 

seated  at  the  table  that  evening,  she  courageously 
said: 

"Pa,  can  I  have  a  new  dress  to  wear  to  the 
picnic?" 

"A  new  dress!"  echoed  her  father,  gruffly.  "I 
don't  know  nothin'  about  it ;  but  this  I  do  know, 
we've  gotta  be  awful  careful  of  money  jest  now 
while  the  factory's  runnin'  light." 

Pa  ate  his  potatoes  and  meat  in  grim  silence. 
But  after  he  began  on  the  rice-pudding  his  scowl 
gradually  relaxed,  and  a  look  of  peace  over- 
spread his  tired  face;  for  the  pudding  tasted 
very  good  to  him.  And  as  he  slowly  munched 
the  raisins,  he  glanced  speculatively  at  Opal; 
then,  after  every  crumb  was  gone,  said  pleas- 
antly, "What  kind  of  a  dress  do  you  want, 
Opal?" 

"A  thin  white  one,  I  can  make  it  myself;  and 
I  can't  go  to  the  picnic  without  one — and  I 
promised  Seftie." 

Pa  sheepishly  handed  Opal  three  silver  dollars. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Pa,"  cried  Opal,  joyfully. 
"Can  I  have  it,  Ma?" 

"Didn't  your  Pa  give  it  to  you  ?  But  I  dunno 
as  he  would  if  you  hadn't  worked  on  his  feelin's 
with  a  puddin',"  worried  Ma. 

"A  good  puddin'  turneth  away  wrath," 
86 


"  NOTHIN'  WOODSY  ABOUT  THAT  DRESS,"  DECLARED  MA 


OPAL 

grinned  Pa.     "And  I'd  like  a  second  helpin' — 
if  there's  puddin'  to  spare." 

"Here  't  is,  Pa,  now  don't  nobody  else  ast  for 
puddin';  'cause  your  Pa's  got  all  that's  left. 
And  I'm  glad  that  dress  is  settled,"  she  added, 
"  'cause  it  seems  to  me  like  we're  always  a-rac- 
ketin'  at  meal-times  over  somethin'  or  other." 

"Nothin'  woodsy  about  that  dress,"  declared 
Ma  Flickinger  the  day  before  the  picnic,  when 
the  new  white  dress  was  finished  and  Opal  had 
put  it  on.  "I  wouldn't  'a*  knowed  you,"  she 
said  admiringly.  "And  bein'  a  leetle  on  the 
scraggy  order,  the  dress  kinder  fulls  you  out  and 
makes  you  look  more  stubbed.  Now  put  on 
your  hat  so's  I  can  see  how  you're  goin'  to  look. 
Land!  you  look  like  tunket,"  she  went  on.  "I 
didn't  know  your  old  brown  sailor  was  so  fur 
gone.  And,  Opal,  as  sure  as  you're  alive,  you've 
gotta  have  new  white  silk  gloves,  'cause  your 
sleeves  are  elbows;  and  new  shoes,  'cause  the 
luther  is  as  red  as  my  hand." 

"I  don't  mind,"  answered  Opal;  "I  won't 
wear  any  hat  or  gloves,  and  my  shoes  can  be 
blacked." 

"I  mind,"  replied  her  mother,  grimly.  "Do 
you  think  I'd  let  you  go  off  with  a  swell  feller 
89 


OPAL 

like  Seftie  Woods  without  any  hat  or  gloves? 
If  you  go,  you've  gotta  have  everything  to  match. 
And  you  sha'n't  go  a  step  with  your  head  and 
heels  a-lookin'  as  hodstodgeon  as  that. 

"Mebbe,  Opal,"  she  continued,  "if  your  Pa 
was  to  have  another  rice-puddin'  he'd  pony  up  a 
hat  and  gloves;  but  don't  ast  him  this  time  till 
after  he's  et." 

"And  I  could  trim  the  hat  myself,"  claimed 
Opal. 

"And  you  needn't  put  nigh  as  many  raisins 
in  as  you  did  last  time;  your  Pa'll  never  know 
the  diff,"  advised  her  mother,  economically. 

"Ought  I  to  put  up  a  lunch  for  the  picnic?" 
asked  Opal. 

"I  think  so,"  affirmed  her  mother.  "Sef tie's 
a-contributin'  the  horse  and  buggy;  and  you 
oughter  be  willin'  to  furnish  the  victuals  as  long 
as  he  hauls  you  up  there  free."  Ma  was  deter- 
mined that  Opal  should  not  consider  Sefton 
Woods  as  a  "beau." 

"We'll  want  sandwiches  and  pickles,"  began 
Opal. 

"Yes,  but  you'll  want  more.  To  do  it  right 
means  frosted  cake — plenty  of  it." 

"I  don't  believe  we'll  want  very  many  sweet 
things." 

90 


OPAL 

"He  will,"  prophesied  Ma.  "Think  what  the 
men-folks  in  this  family  does  when  they  gits 
their  paws  onto  frosted  stuff!  Frosted  cookies 
with  raisin  mud-turtles  on  'em  are  tasty -lookin'. 
And  there  oughter  be  at  least  three  kinds  of 
frosted  cake,  seein'  you're  tryin'  to  do  things 
jest  right.  I  want  you  to  have  such  a  nobby 
lunch  that  if  Mis'  Woods  herself  was  to  swoop 
down  on  you  at  the  picnic  that  you  wouldn't  haft 
to  be  ashamed." 

All  that  afternoon  Ma  baked,  and  recklessly 
sacrificed  sugar  and  raisins  and  eggs  on  the  altar 
of  gentility ;  for  she  wanted  Opal  to  have  every- 
thing right.  And  the  rice  -  pudding  was  duly 
prepared  for  supper,  and  that  evening  Pa 
Flickinger,  munching  on  the  frugal  dainty,  re- 
membered the  last  pudding,  and  smiling  reminis- 
cently  inquired,  "What's  the  tax  this  time?" 

"You'll  have  to  fix  up  somethin'  different 
after  this  to  catch  Pa  with,  Opal,"  laughed 
Jed. 

"Not  as  long  as  the  puddin'  holds  out  as  full 
of  raisins  as  this'n,"  asserted  Pa,  genially. 

"Opal,  did  you  do  as  I  told  you?"  questioned 
her  mother,  severely. 

' '  I  always  put  in  a  few  more  than  the  receipt 
calls  for,"  confessed  Opal. 


OPAL 

."Half  is  enough — nobody 'd  know  the  diff," 
declared  Ma. 

"I  would,"  stated  Pa,  promptly.  "I  like  it 
jest  as  it  is ;  and,  Opal,  if  you  want  something, 
spit  it  out." 

"Opal's  best  hat  is  too  frazzled  to  wear  to  a 
picnic,"  informed  Ma. 

"I  could  trim  it  myself,  Pa,"  put  in  Opal, 
eagerly. 

"We  don't  want  you  to  go  lookin'  like  a 
farmer,  Opal ;  but  don't  spend  any  more  money 
than  you  haft  to,"  said  Pa,  cautiously,  giving  his 
daughter  a  dollar  and  a  quarter. 

' '  And  Opal  oughter  have  gloves , ' '  continued  her 
mother;  "I  declare,  when  it  comes  to  goin'  any- 
wheres it  seems  as  if  we  had  scurcely  no  togs  at 
all.  But,  Opal,  you're  welcome  to  my  fleece-lined 
dogskins — funny  I  never  thought  of  'em  afore." 

"Whoever  heard  of  anybody  wearin'  fleece- 
lined  gloves  in  June  ?"  demanded  Jed. 

"Be  that  as  it  may,"  returned  Ma,  stiffly, 
"they're  all  the  gloves — lined  or  otherwise — in 
this  family.  Poor  folks  like  us  can't  afford  a 
different  pair  of  gloves  every  time  the  weather 
changes." 

"But  the  poor  kid  '11  swelter  in  'em,"  pro- 
tested Jed. 

92 


OPAL 

"I  didn't  jest  mean  for  her  to  wear  'em,  'cause 
her  sleeves  is  elbows;  but  she  could  carry  'em 
in  her  hand  polite-like.  A  real  lady  oughter 
always  wear  gloves — or  have  'em  by  her," 
qualified  Ma. 

"Mebbe  your  Ma's  gloves  '11  do,  Opal,"  con- 
ceded Pa,  who  had  but  a  hazy  idea  of  his  wife's 
cherished  dogskins.  "Fetch  'em  out." 

"My  gloves  is  a  light  gray,"  described  Ma, 
"or  was  afore  they  was  worn  so  much;  jest 
the  thing  to  go  with  Opal's  white  dress — or 
would  'a'  been  afore  they  got  so  dirty." 

Opal  held  up  her  slim  young  hands  encased 
in  the  fleece-lined  dogskins,  whose  bulky  fingers 
and  abbreviated  wrists  gave  her  hands  the 
appearance  of  a  baseball  catcher's. 

"Well,  I'll  be  durned,"  shouted  Jed.  "Ma, 
don't  let  Opal  do  anything  like  that!"  And  Pa 
and  Jed  laughed  heartily,  while  Opal  could  not 
repress  a  giggle. 

' '  Is  Opal  a-goin'  to  git  new  gloves  or  ain't  she  ?' ' 
demanded  Ma,  sharply.  "If  she  is,  they've  got- 
ta be  bought  to-night — the  picnic's  to-morrow, 
remember." 

"I'll  get  along  without  gloves,"  said  Opal. 

"But  I'd  ruther  you  didn't,"  dissented  her 
mother.  "I  want  you  to  go  right — "  for  the 
7  93 


OPAL 

demon  of  gentility  had  hold  of  Ma  Flickinger, 
and  she  could  not  rest  till  it  was  satisfied. 

"What  '11  it  cost?"  asked  Pa,  with  a  sigh;  for 
as  small  as  this  matter  would  seem  to  a  parent 
with  a  larger  income,  it  was  a  vital  matter  to 
Opal's  father. 

"All  of  one  and  a  quarter,"  feared  Ma. 

"That  wire  nettin'  for  the  garden  '11  be  about 
that,"  observed  Pa. 

"I  plumb  forgot  the  nettin'.  Land!  I  wisht 
we  wa'n't  so  pizen  poor,"  lamented  Ma. 

"I'll  give  a  dollar  and  a  quarter,"  unexpectedly 
offered  Jed. 

"What's  struck  you,  Jed,  to  give  your  sister 
a  cent  of  money?"  questioned  Ma  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"She  needs  it,"  returned  her  son,  dryly. 

"I  dunno  whether  she  needs  it  or  not,"  con- 
tradicted his  mother.  "My  fleece-lined  dog- 
skins— " 

"Let  up,"  grinned  Jed;  "here's  one-seventy- 
five,"  handing  his  mother  the  money. 

"Many  thanks,  Jed;  but  they  can't  possibly 
cost  that  much,"  expostulated  Ma,  politely, 
delighted  at  such  prodigality. 

"Then,  Ma,  get  something  for  yourself  with 
the  extra  change." 

94 


OPAL 

' ' I  will, ' '  she  promised ;  " I'll  git  you  some  new 
socks." 

"Cut  out  the  socks,  Ma;  I  said  something  for 
yourself,"  reminded  her  son,  good-naturedly. 

"I'll  git  your  Pa  some  socks,  too;  his'n  are 
on  their  last  legs  now  as  fur  as  darnin'  is  con- 
cerned." 

"That's  you,  Ma,  every  time,"  laughed  Jed. 

"I'll  betche  young  Willie  Hop-toad  '11  pick  up 
his  long  ears  when  he  sees  Opal  in  Seftie  Woods' 
horse  and  buggy  to-morrer,"  prophesied  Pa. 

"No,  that  won't  faze  Willie  much,"  allowed 
Jed;  "his  mind  '11  be  on  the  speech  he's  goin'  to 
make — all  about  the  benefit  of  livin'  in  Berrien 
County,  told  to  a  lot  of  folks  that's  never  had  a 
chanct  to  live  anywhere  else." 

"Well,  this  is  a  good  county,"  acknowledged 
Pa,  "so  I  don't  suppose  Willie  '11  do  it  much  harm 
with  his  flowery  blab." 

"Mebbe  he  won't,"  added  Jed,  doubtfully; 
"but  nothin'  makes  me  tireder  of  Berrien  County 
than  to  hear  somebody  sayin'  things  that  nobody 
wants  to  dispute  in  such  a  durned  Daniel  Webster 
way." 

"Well,  anyway,  I'm  glad  Willie's  little  old  spiel 
ain't  the  only  sound  in  the  world,  even  if  he 
thinks  it  is,"  said  Pa. 

95 


OPAL 

"And,  Opal,  if  you  run  ag'in  Willie  up  to  the 
Springs  to-morrer,  jest  act  as  if  nothin'  ever 
happened  betwixt  you;  you  needn't  be  hypo- 
critical and  palaver  over  him,  but  pass  the  time 
of  day,"  advised  her  mother.  "It  never  hurts 
nothin'  to  be  civil — and  he  might  talk  about 
you  if  you  wa'n't,"  she  added  prudently. 

"And  you  can  tell  Mr.  Willie  Hop-toad  for 
me,  Opal,  that  we  Flickingers  are  still  in  the  same 
old  ditch — socially;  and  we  don't  thank  him — 
nor  nobody  else — to  come  along  ag'in  tryin'  to 
pry  us  out'n  the  muck,"  said  Pa. 

"Muck,  Pa,  ain't  a  very  pretty  word  to  use 
when  there's  victuals  on  the  table,"  admonished 
his  wife.  "And  now  if  you  men-folks  is  all  et, 
git  out,"  she  commanded ;  ' ' so's  me  and  Opal  can 
rid  up  things  and  git  started  down-town;  it  '11 
be  a  long,  dusty,  swelterin'  walk." 

"Leave  Opal  go  alone,"  suggested  Pa. 

"Opal!"  exclaimed  Ma,  witheringly.  "Any 
clerk  could  git  the  better  of  her — I've  gotta  go." 

"Why  don't  you  take  the  street -car,  Ma?" 
asked  Jed. 

"'Cause  I  ain't  a  millionaire,  if  you've  gotta 
know.  I  never  took  the  street-car  jest  to  ride 
down-town  half  a  dozen  times  in  my  life." 

"We  might  ride  home,"  said  Opal,  "that's 
96 


OPAL 

only  ten  cents — I  saw  ten  cents  on  the  pantry 
shelf." 

"That's  milk  money,"  informed  her  mother. 

"And  fifteen  cents  on  the  bureau,"  Opal 
ventured. 

"I  owe  the  vegetable  man  that,"  stated  Ma. 

' '  Where's  that  dime  I  give  you  last  week,  Ma  ?" 
Pa  suddenly  asked,  sensing  that  his  women-folks 
wanted  ten  cents,  though  he  was  reading  the 
market  reports. 

"Spent  a  dozen  times,"  exaggerated  Ma, 
crossly. 

"I've  got  ten  cents  in  my  bag,"  she  admitted. 
"I've  been  a-savin'  it  toward  towels  when  there's 
a  sale  at  three  and  one-third  cents  a  yard — last 
time  I  didn't  have  the  money.  But  I'll  take  it. 
Land !  how  much  it  costs  to  go  even  on  the  aidge 
of  society.  Opal,  I'll  be  glad  when  you're  started 
to  teachin'  school  and  earnin'  money  of  your  own. ' ' 

"What's  the  sense  of  makin'  all  this  fuss 
about  a  little  old  picnic?"  demanded  Jed,  in- 
dignantly. "Seftie  wouldn't  want  such  a  fuss 
made." 

"I  ain't  a-doin'  it  all  for  Seftie,"  his  mother 
told  him  shortly.  "I  don't  want  folks  that 
don't  know  Opal  up  to  Berrien  Springs  to  make 
fun  of  her." 

97 


OPAL 

"Better  ride  home,"  called  Pa,  kindly,  as  they 
started. 

"Seein'  Opal's  goin'  on  such  a  tuckerin'  jant 
to-morrer,  we  will,"  conceded  Ma. 

"Best  take  the  umbrell,  Ma,"  cautioned  Pa, 
coming  to  the  porch  to  see  them  off,  "she's 
a-lookin'  lowery." 

"If  we  lug  a  umbrell  it  won't  rain,"  returned 
Ma,  pessimistically,  "and  then  the  dust  '11  be 
knee-deep  to-morrow  and  Opal  11  spoil  her  new 
white  duds;  but  give  it  here." 

Ma's  thoughts  were  on  the  coming  picnic  as 
she  and  Opal  walked  to  town,  and  she  had  much 
advice  to  give  as  they  made  their  way  along  the 
dusty  cement  walks.  "The  horse  oughter  be 
thought  of  afore  anything  else,"  she  told  Opal; 
"for  it's  a  long  pull  and  a  strong  pull  from  here 
to  Berrien  Springs.  I  dunno  jest  how  many 
miles  it  is,  but  I  know  it's  a  tug  to  git  there. 
And  don't  encourage  Seftie  to  run  his  horse 
up-hill,  or  to  race  other  buggies.  I  wisht  to 
land  that  your  Pa  or  Jed  was  goin'  along  with 
you,  'cause  Seftie's  such  a  high-flier;  but  be 
cautious  and  careful  and  you'll  probably  git 
home  all  right." 

Pa  and  Jed  sat  under  the  glass-bangled  hang- 
ing-lamp in  the  sitting-room,  reading  the  paper, 
98 


OPAL 

which  they  had  amicably  divided  for  that  pur- 
pose, when  Ma  and  Opal  reached  home  that 
evening.  "And  here  I've  tugged  this  heavy 
umbre-11  down  and  back  and  not  a  drop  of  rain 
yit — jest  my  luck,"  grumbled  Ma. 

"But  where's  Opal's  hat,  Old  Woman  ?" 
questioned  Pa.  "Don't  say  you  didn't  git 
none." 

"Show  me  the  gloves,"  commanded  Jed. 

"Shut  up,  both  of  you,  and  lemme  git  a 
breath,"  panted  Ma.  "Opal,  show  your  new 
duds." 

"Is  this  your  hat?"  Pa  asked  in  a  displeased 
voice. 

"It  isn't  trimmed  yet,"  Opal  explained. 

"No  bigger'n  a  postage  stamp,"  complained 
her  father. 

"It's  a  turban,"  Opal  told  him;  "and  when 
it's  trimmed  it  '11  look  bigger." 

"And  it  cost  all  of  one-twenty-five,"  informed 
Ma,  bitterly.  ' '  But  it's  all  we  could  git,  and  she's 
goin'  to  trim  it  with  her  old  graduatin'  sash." 

"Nothin'  wrong  with  your  gloves,  Opal;  jest 
like  Fernie's,"  approved  Jed. 

"Nothin'  wrong  but  the  price,"  grumbled  Ma. 
"They  was  one-fifty;  so  I  couldn't  git  but  three 
pairs  of  socks.  But  I'll  betche  you'd  never  guess 
99 


OPAL 

what  they  cost — three  pairs  for  a  quarter,"  she 
cried  triumphantly;  "one  pair  apiece,  and 
t'other  to  wear  in  company.  And  I  got  the 
biggest  there  was,  well  knowin'  they'd  be  none 
too  big." 

"A  born  milliner,"  praised  Pa,  as  Opal  fash- 
ioned the  well-preserved  white  ribbon  into 
graceful  bows.  Yet  when  the  hat  was  finished, 
Opal  said  it  looked  stiff  and  home-made. 

Just  then  Sophie,  the  Polish  wife  of  Opal's 
brother  Billie,  came  in.  They  had  all  liked 
Sophie  when  she  married  Billie,  but  she  had 
grown  with  passing  years  doubly  dear  to  them; 
for  Sophie,  whatever  the  fault-findings  and  bick- 
erings of  the  Flickingers,  had  never  failed  them. 

"Sophie,  my  hat  looks  so  cheap  and  funny," 
worried  Opal. 

"The  brim  should  get  dented,  like  a  picture 
hat  that  I  saw  down- town;  leave  me  fix  him," 
cried  Sophie,  interested  at  once. 

"Be  careful,  Sophie,"  cautioned  Ma.  "It 
looks  good  to  me  now;  you  might  spile  it." 

"Go  ahead,  Sophie,"  encouraged  Jed. 

"Sophie  '11  give  it  the  right  twist,"  added  Pa, 
confidently. 

"I  have  dent  it  in  five  places,  already — put 
on,"  directed  Sophie. 

100 


OPAL 

"Hurray!"  shouted  Pa,  "Opal  looks  like  a 
regular  summer  girl!" 

"It  looks  just  the  way  I  wanted  it  to,  Sophie," 
said  Opal,  gratefully. 

"It  does  look  better,"  acknowledged  Ma; 
"now  don't  touch  it  ag'in." 

"Set  down,  Sophie,"  invited  Pa,  kicking  the 
next  to  the  easiest  rocker  toward  her  with  his 
foot;  he  occupied  the  easiest  one. 

"No,  I  can't  stay  a  minute,  yet;  -our  little 
Ludwig  has  et  something  disagreeable,  already; 
but  I  come  over  to  ask  Opal  should  she  like  the 
loan  of  my  gold  bracelet  that  the  factory  girls 
give  me  when  I  was  married  to  wear  to-mor- 
row?" 

"Oh,  Sophie,  it's  so  pretty.  May  I  wear  it, 
Ma?"  asked  Opal. 

"Well,  I  dunno,  it' d  be  a  tumble  responsi- 
bility," said  her  mother,  carefully.  "Still,  it  'd 
be  on  your  arm  where  you  could  see  it  the  minute 
it  was  lost.  Yes,  Opal,  as  long  as  Sophie's  so 
kind." 

"Sophie,  your  kid's  a-squallin'  his  head  off," 
informed  her  husband,  Billie  Flickinger,  coming 
in  unexpectedly.  Billie  was  big  and  bossy,  and 
seemed  to  fill  the  little  room  with  his  domineering 
personality. 

101 


OPAL 

"But,  Billie,  to  leave  our  baby  alone,"  re- 
proved Sophie,  gently.  "Suppose  he  falls?" 

"Then  you  hustle  back,"  ordered  Billie,  and 
Sophie  obediently  withdrew,  leaving  the  bracelet 
with  Opal. 

"See  what  I've  fetched  you,  Ma,"  cried  Billie, 
holding  up  a  battered  old  gray  canvas  satchel; 
"would  Opal  like  to  pack  their  picnic  fodder  in 
this?" 

"The  swellest  thing  out,"  declared  his  mother, 
delighted.  ' '  What  say,  Pa  ?" 

"Nothin',  except  that  Billie's  telescope  was 
bought  to  carry  his  lodge  regalia  in,  and  not  to 
smear  up  with  picnic  odds  and  ends,"  returned 
Pa,  dryly. 

Billie's  face  fell.  "I  never  thought  of  that;  I 
only  thought  it  would  be  a  decent-lookin'  thing 
to  carry  your  victuals  in.  I  always  hated  to 
tote  a  basket,  and  I'll  bet  that  Seftie  Woods  does. 
Anyway,  Sophie's  bracelet  '11  add  to  your  looks, 
Opal,"  concluded  Billie,  anxious  to  do  something 
for  his  sister. 

"It's  just  lovely,"  declared  Opal;  "and  it  was 
so  good  of  Sophie  to  think  of  it." 

"And  a  finger  ring  'd  give  Opal  a  nobby  look; 
but  she  can't  make  no  such  splurge  as  that,"  said 
Ma,  wistfully. 


OPAL 

"Maybe  Opal  11  be  wearin'  a  ring  when  she 
comes  back,"  observed  Jed,  slyly. 

"Don't  think  it,"  contradicted  Ma.  "Opal 
knows  it's  jest  a  case  of  your  gentleman  friend 
a-givin'  her  a  pleasant  outin'.  It's  merely  a 
polite  return  for  them  strawberries,  and  she 
understands  that  otherwise  she  wouldn't  git 
to  go." 

A  smile  that  Ma  did  not  see  spread  gradually 
over  Pa's  lined  features,  ending  in  a  very  ex- 
pressive wink  that  made  Opal's  cheeks  glow 
with  sudden  red. 

"Come  and  see  my  picnic  clothes,  Billie,"  in- 
vited Opal ;  "they're  in  the  front  bedroom." 

"Sure,"  assented  Billie;  "and  I'll  betche  it  '11 
rain  before  to-morrow  mornin',  then  you'll  have 
a  good  road  for  the  ride." 

Even  then  huge  black  clouds  were  rolling  over- 
head, threatening  a  downpour.  "I'd  be  willin' 
to  git  sousin'  wet  if  it  'd  only  rain,"  cried  a  shrill 
voice  at  the  side  door. 

"Jule,  what  're  you  doin'  over  here  this  time 
of  night?"  inquired  her  father,  shortly. 

"To  see  Opal's  new  togs,  for  one  thing," 
returned  Jule  Peebles,  who  wore  a  lank  blue 
calico  wrapper  and  had  a  towel  over  her  head. 

"Go  right  into  the  bedroom,  Jule,"  directed 
103 


OPAL 

Ma.  "Opal's  got  a  light  in  there  showin'  her 
things  to  Billie." 

Although  Jule  and  Billie  were  at  outs,  Jule 
marched  boldly  into  the  bedroom,  with  a  casual, 
"Hello,  folks." 

Opal  returned  her  sister's  greeting;  but  Billie 
only  stared  indifferently  at  the  wall-paper,  and 
then  said  to  Opal  as  he  started  home,  "Your 
glad  rags  is  certainly  swell,  sissie." 

"Here's  Jule,  Billie,"  reminded  Opal,  gently. 

"Aw,  don't  trouble  yourself,  Miss  Opal,  to  try 
to  make  Billie  act  decent,  it  ain't  in  him,"  said 
Jule,  crossly.  "Lemme  see  your  duds.  Your 
white  dress  is  made  too  big  all  over.  Them 
gloves  will  be  black  as  dirt  by  night.  What  a 
dinky  little  hat !  Ain't  you  got  no  fan  ?" 

And  Jule,  after  a  hasty  but  sharp  survey  of 
Opal's  picnic  finery,  flounced  out  into  the  sitting- 
room. 

"I  suppose  Opal  thinks  she's  some  punkins 
now,"  said  Jule,  who  was  clearly  disgruntled, 
"a-goin'  way  up  to  Berrien  Springs  in  a  red- 
wheeled  horse  and  buggy." 

"No,  Opal's  a-takin'  it  as  cool  as  a  cucumber," 
informed  Ma.  "And  wa'n't  you  surprised  to 
think  that  Opal  had  white  gloves?" 

"Naw,  Opal  had  white  gloves  when  she 
104 


OPAL 

graduated,  and  the  sky  'didn't  tumble  down 
neither.  I  suppose  it's  understood  between 
Opal  and  Seftie  that  they're  goin'  to  be  married 
some  time." 

"Why,  Jule!"  exclaimed  Opal,  indignantly. 

"All  right  for  you,  Miss,  walk  on  me  as  much 
as  you  like;  but  mebbe  your  little  old  picnic 
won't  amount  to  so  much  after  all.  Mebbe  you 
don't  know  that  Seftie  Woods  is  jest  as  sweet 
on  Fernie  Bistle  as  he  is  on  you!  I've  been  sur- 
prised and  so's  others  that  he's  hung  on  here 
as  long  as  he  has.  I  only  spoke  about  your 
gettin'  married  to  see  how  the  land  lay;  and  I 
see  that  you're  sweet  on  him  all  right,  all 
right." 

At  this  discordant  note  in  the  evening's  har- 
mony Opal  suddenly  felt  oppressed,  and  her 
latent  distrust  of  Fern  Bistle  leaped  into  instant 
jealousy.  She  could  not  understand  that  Jule 
was  exaggerating  things  probably,  because  Jule 
disliked  to  think  of  Opal's  having  a  good  time. 

"Anyway,  Willie  Briggs  is  sweet  on  Opal,  I 
suppose,"  grinned  Jule. 

"Willie  Briggs  '11  confine  himself  strictly  to 
the  upper  crust  after  this,  Jule,"  informed  Jed. 
"Opal  won't  listen  to  Willie." 

"No,"  struck  in  Ma,  "Opal's  got  more  sense — 
105 


OPAL 

she's  a-goin'  to  teach  school  and  use  her  edu- 
cation." 

"But  I'll  betche,  Ma,  that  Seftie  Woods  '11  talk 
about  something  besides  the  weather  to-morrow," 
observed  Jule ,  shrewdly.  Then  she  added ,  resent- 
fully, "I  shouldn't  'a'  thought  that  Opal  'd  'a' 
needed  new  gloves  jest  to  wear  up  there;  she'll 
spile  'em  afore  she  gits  half-way  there.  White 
silk  can't  keep  clean." 

"It  ain't  likely  that  Opal  '11  wear  the  gloves 
much ;  if  I  have  my  way  she'll  carry  'em  up  there 
wrapped  in  tissue-paper,  and  when  she  gits  to 
the  picnic  she'll  undo  'em  and  carry  'em  lady- 
like in  her  hand,"  explained  their  mother. 

"I  should  'a'  thought  Opal  might  have  had 
the  loan  of  your  fleece-lined — "  Jule  was  begin- 
ning when  her  mother  interrupted  her. 

"The  loan  of  'em!  I  fair  begged  that  young 
one  all  but  on  bended  knees  to  wear  my  fleece- 
lined;  but,  no,  she's  gotta  have  white  silk  ones." 

"Pa  always  was  easy  with  his  money," 
grumbled  Jule. 

"But  it  wa'n't  Pa  that  done  such  a  foolish 
thing,  it  was  Jed." 

"What's   struck   Jed?"   demanded  Jule,  as- 
tonished.    "I  didn't  suppose  Jed  and  Opal  got 
along  any  better  than  me  and  Billie  ust  to." 
1 06 


OPAL 

"Tain't  that  Jed's  so  keen  to  do  something 
for  Opal,"  declared  Ma;  "but  it's  on  account  of 
Seftie;  them  boys  are  so  thick  that  Jed  kinder 
wants  Opal  to  look  right  so  that  Seftie  won't 
have  no  call  to  be  ashamed  of  her." 

"Jed  and  Seftie  are  a  kinder  David  and  Jona- 
than lot,"  Pa  told  them;  "I  never  see  two  boys 
think  more  of  each  other." 

All  this  time  Jed  sat  with  the  others,  but  ap- 
parently deep  in  his  book. 

"And  I  suppose  Jed  '11  be  gittin'  married  afore 
long,"  volunteered  Jule. 

"Land,  Jule,  how  you  talk!"  cried  her  mother. 
"And  if  you  mean  Fern  Bistle,  that  thing's  goin' 
to  be  broke  up — if  I  have  to  do  it." 

Jed  quietly  arose  and  left  the  room,  unwilling 
to  hear  his  mother's  tirade. 

"How  cranky  Jed's  gettin',"  noticed  Jule. 
Then  the  scowl  melted  from  her  dissatisfied  young 
face,  and  she  smilingly  said,  "Here  I've  been 
gabblin'  and  pretty  nigh  forgot  what  I  come  over 
for.  I've  brung  you  my  little  hand-bag,  Opal,  to 
carry  to  the  picnic;  I  thought  it  might  come 
handy." 

"Just  the  thing,"  began  Ma,  before  Opal  could 
thank  her  sister,  "for  the  handkerchiefs." 

"Handkerchiefs!"  exclaimed  Jule.  "Howmany 
107 


OPAL 

does  it  take  to  go  to  a  picnic  ?     You  talk  as  if 
Opal  was  fixin'  for  a  funeral." 

"Four — one  up,  one  there,  one  back,  and  an 
extra,"  enumerated  Ma. 

' '  How'd  you  rake  up  four  decent  handkerchiefs 
that  wa'n't  in  use?"  exclaimed  Jule,  incredulously. 

"It  was  a  tug,"  admitted  her  mother. 

"And  I  hope  the  little  bag  '11  open  for  you, 
Opal,"  said  Jule,  solicitously,  "and  not  git  one  of 
its  spunky  streaks." 

"Everybody's  been  so  good  to  help  us  out," 
beamed  Ma,  "well  knowin'  what  a  tug  it  is  for  us 
to  be  genteel;  you  and  Sophie,  and  big  Butch 
Fanner,  who  sent  the  grandest  pink  ham  for  the 
lunch,  and  Billie  offerin'  his  telescope — " 

"Billie  jest  did  it  to  stick  in,"  criticised  Jule. 
"Did  you  notice,  Ma,  he  never  spoke  one  livin' 
word  to  me  to-night  ?" 

"But  folks  in  the  same  family  don't  need  to 
bow  and  scrape  every  time  they  meet,"  tem- 
porized Ma. 

"It's  a  relief  to  me  not  to  have  'em  speak," 
announced  Pa  Flickinger,  "then  they  can't 
come  here  and  scrap." 

"Pa,    how   you   talk,"    reproved    Ma.     "I'd 
ruther  they'd  scrap  everlastingly — I  don't  care 
where  they  pull  it  off — than  not  to  speak!" 
108 


OPAL 

"But  I  know  what's  the  matter  with  old  Mr. 
Bill,"  Jule  told  them,  "he  don't  like  what  I  said 
to  him  about  Sophie  awhile  back.  He's  too 
bossy  with  that  girl." 

"Jest  what  did  you  say,  Jule?"  asked  her 
mother,  apprehensively. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  worry,  I  didn't  say  much. 
I  only  said  that  if  he  hounded  Sophie  to  death  by 
his  selfishness  that  I — for  one — wouldn't  be  sur- 
prised. I'd  'a'  said  more  if  Sophie  hadn't  looked 
as  if  she  was  goin'  to  cry — and  if  I  hadn't  been 
too  much  of  a  lady  to  squabble  with  my  own 
brother  when  I  was  visitin'  to  his  house." 

Ma  felt  that  Jule  had  said  considerable,  but 
she  only  sighed  and  for  once  offered  no  advice. 

A  clap  of  thunder  reverberating  unexpectedly 
overhead,  cut  short  Jule's  further  complaint 
about  her  brother.  And  she  bolted  suddenly 
out  of  the  house  and  disappeared  in  the  pelting 
rain. 

"She's  here,"  exulted  Pa,  referring  to  the 
storm.  "Opal  won't  have  no  dust  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  I  hope  it  won't  rain  like  this  to-morrow," 
worried  Opal. 

"And  supposin'  Hickory  Creek  swells  up  and 
overflows  the  Niles  Road,"  fretted  Ma. 

"Shucks!  no  danger,"  laughed  Pa. 
8  109 


OPAL 

"Where  '11  they  cross  the  St.  Joe  River?"  in- 
quired Ma,  who  had  only  hazy  notions  concerning 
the  route  to  Berrien  Springs. 

"Napier's  Bridge,"  informed  Jed,  who  had 
lounged  into  the  room  again. 

"I  wisht  I  knowed  if  the  bridge  jiggled  much," 
said 'Ma,  anxiously.  "And  railroad  tracks!"  she 
exclaimed  with  sudden  apprehension,  "ain't 
there  a  mort  of  railroad  tracks  between  here  and 
Berrien  Springs?  There's  been  a  new  railroad 
spoke  of  pretty  nigh  every  night  in  the  paper 
for  twenty  years — some  of  'em  must  git  built." 

"The  railroads  won't  bother  Seftie  none,"  Jed 
assured  her. 

' '  I  kinder  thought  mebbe  Seftie  'd  drop  in  for 
a  few  minutes  this  evenin',"  said  Pa,  "to  talk  over 
plans — though  I  dunno  as  it's  necessary." 

Opal  had  half-expected  him,  too.  "It  would- 
n't 'a'  hurt  him  none,"  allowed  Ma,  "seein'  he's 
always  a-droppin'  in  when  nobody  wants  him — 
he  might  'a'  done  it  to-night." 

"Seftie  '11  be  right  down  after  breakfast,"  said 
Jed. 

"But  what  time  do  they  eat?"  Ma  wanted  to 
know. 

"Oh,  about  seven." 

"Seven!"  repeated  Ma,  scandalized. 


OPAL 

"They  don't  need  to  hustle ;  Woodses  have  got 
enough  to  live  on."  Jed  asserted.  "Why,  they 
pay  out  more  in  taxes  in  a  year  than  it  takes  to 
keep  us." 

"No!"  cried  Ma,  "don't  tell  me  that." 

"Anson  Woods  don't  swell  around  none  in 
automobiles,  but  he's  a  man  of  big  property.  I 
can  remember  when  he  didn't  have  but  ten 
acres,  but  he's  kept  addin'  to  it.  And  his  son  '11 
have  it  all,"  concluded  Pa,  pointedly. 

"Who  else  would  have  it?"  asked  Ma,  tartly. 
"You  talk  like  folks  with  only  sons  generally  left 
all  their  property  to  orphan  asylums." 

"I'm  only  drivin'  home  the  fact  that  Seftie  '11 
be  a  rich  man  some  day,"  Pa  returned. 

"Which  has  nothin'  to  do  with  us,"  remarked 
Ma,  perversely. 

"She  ain't  a-rainin'  as  hard  as  she  was,"  ob- 
served Pa,  returning  to  the  weather  as  a  safer 
subject  of  conversation  than  Sefton  Woods, 
"but  it  '11  probably  shower  ag'in  to-night  off 
and  on — and  then  clear  up  by  daylight,"  he 
added  to  encourage  his  daughter. 

Opal,  who  had  a  tremulous  fear  that  some- 
thing would  happen  to  keep  her  from  the  picnic, 
now  began  to  feel  that  she  was  really  going ;  and 
the  poor  little  sitting-room  faded  away  into  the 


OPAL 

sunlit  spaces  of  the  country.  She  could  see  her- 
self in  all  her  pretty  new  clothes  driving  away 
from  the  humdrum  life  on  Pine  Street  with 
Sefton  Woods,  the  Prince  Charming  of  her  small 
world. 

"Now,  go  to  bed,  Opal,  so's  to  git  all  the  sleep 
you  can,"  said  her  mother,  kindly.  "I've  got  a 
few  odds  and  ends  to  fix  up,  and  then  I'll  come, 
too.  Jed,  you  don't  need  to  set  up  no  longer, 
neither.  Pa,  see  if  the  cat  is  out." 

Opal  and  Jed  started  up-stairs,  and  Pa  obedi- 
ently put  out  the  cat,  then  he  pulled  off  his 
boots,  and,  taking  a  small  kerosene  lamp,  tip- 
toed into  the  spare  bedroom  to  have  a  last  look 
at  his  daughter's  picnic  finery  as  it  lay  like  a 
drift  of  snow  on  the  bed. 

He  poked  at  the  white  gloves  with  a  careful 
finger,  fearing  to  soil  them  with  his  work-stained 
hands.  Then  he  gazed  long  at  the  delicate  folds 
of  the  dress  that  he  had  been  taxed  to  produce ; 
and  a  mist  came  over  Pa  Flickinger's  eyes. 
And,  blowing  out  the  light,  he  went  to  look  for 
Opal's  mother. 

He  found  his  wife  in  the  kitchen  beside  a  small, 
smudgy  kerosene  lamp,  busily  blacking  the  shoes 
that  Opal  had  just  taken  off. 

"Couldn't  Jeddie  'a'  done  that  for  you,  Old 


OPAL 

Woman?"  he  inquired  kindly,  though  it  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  do  it. 

"Land,  no,"  returned  Ma.  "Jed's  such  a 
splatter-heels  he'd  black  hisself  and  the  hull 
surroundin'  country ;  but  I  doubt  his  gettin'  any 
on  the  shoes." 

"Opal's  pretty  white  togs  set  me  thinkin'  on — 
brides,"  said  Pa,  boldly,  then  he  paused. 

"You  look  tired,  Pa,"  observed  his  wife,  ig- 
noring his  remark. 

"I  be  — kinder.  But  I  thought  I'd  like  to 
say,"  he  began  courageously,  "that  is — Opal's 
old  enough — and  mebbe,  Ma,  Seftie  and  Opal — " 
but  though  Pa  stopped  helplessly,  his  wife  said 
nothing;  for  she  never  admitted  for  a  moment 
that  Opal  would  be  happier  to.  marry;  she 
wanted  her  to  teach  school  and  "be  somebody." 

"There  ain't  much  we  can  do  for  our  little 
girl,  Ma,  bein'  so  poor,"  went  on  Pa,  "but  there's 
one  thing  we  can  give  her  that  don't  cost  nothing 
and  that's  a  chanct  for  happiness."  Then  he 
added  lamely,  "So  I  thought  I'd  better— turn 
in,"  which  was  not  at  all  what  he  had  intended 
to  say. 

"That's  right,  Pa,"  responded  Ma,  heartily, 
"go  to  bed."  And  Pa  Flickinger  shuffled  dis- 
appointedly away,  while  Ma  still  polished  shoes 
"3 


OPAL 

with  a  steady,  practised  hand.  And  though  her 
task  was  unlovely,  she  might  have  been  posing 
for  motherhood;  for  willing  self-sacrifice  was 
written  in  all  the  lines  of  her  drooping  figure, 
and  a  noble  maternity  that  had  never  spared 
itself  spoke  in  the  serious  intentness  of  her 
tired  face. 

''Everything  to  match,  even  if  it  was  a  tug," 
she  thought  when  the  shoes  were  finished ;  then, 
blowing  out  her  lamp,  she  made  her  way  wearily 
up  to  bed  in  the  dark. 


ALL     FOR     NOTHING 

WEDNESDAY,  the  day  of  the  Old  Folks' 
Picnic  at  Berrien  Springs,  dawned  brill- 
iantly fair  after  a  night  of  rain  that 
checked  the  drought.  Every  bud  and  leaf  and 
flower  shone  like  satin  sheen.  Roses  had  opened 
at  the  touch  of  the  rain,  and  grass  had  sprung 
green  from  its  gray  veil  of  dust.  The  trees  stood 
shining  and  buoyant.  The  neat  little  cottages  on 
Pine  Street  were  as  if  freshly  painted.  The 
country  roads  were  beaten  into  level  gold  and 
silver  as  for  a  king's  procession. 

Ma  Flickinger,  cheerfully  excited,  was  up  early 
this  morning,  her  knot  of  scanty  hair  confined 
by  a  single  hairpin,  her  kitchen  apron  tied  about 
her  lank  waist  in  a  hurried,  lopsided  bow.  And, 
although  Ma's  personal  appearance  was  any- 
thing but  engaging,  for  once  she  was  affable. 
She  had  worked  hard  to  get  Opal  ready  for  the 
picnic,  and  now  enjoyed  the  excitement  attendant 
on  getting  her  started. 

"5 


OPAL 

It  was  a  great  event  for  the  Flickingers  to  go 
anywhere  socially,  and  the  nearer  the  time  came 
the  more  pleased  Ma  was  at  the  prospect.  For 
she  could  not  deny,  even  to  herself,  that  it  was 
an  honor  for  Opal  to  go  to  the  picnic  with  Sefton 
Woods. 

"Come  into  the  pantry,  Pa  and  Jed,"  she  called 
before  the  men  started  to  work,  "and  see  the 
picnic  lunch." 

"Gee!"  gloated  Pa,  his  lined  face  lighting  up 
at  the  sight  of  so  many  dainties.  "I  wouldn't 
mind  bein'  young  like  Seftie  myself — for  the  sake 
of  the  frosted  stuff." 

"You've  got  a  piece  of  everything  that's 
frosted,  Pa,  in  your  dinner-bucket — I've  saw  to 
that,"  assured  Ma. 

"I'd  like  to  give  Mr.  Peyton  a  piece  of  this 
here  marble  cake,"  said  Pa;  "I'll  betche  his 
women-folks  can't  turn  out  nothin'  better." 

"Lemme  put  this  piece  in,  Pa,  it's  got  a 
skip  more  frostin'  on  "than  yours  has,"  offered 
Ma,  generously. 

"Don't  Jed  git  none  of  this  truck?"  asked,  Pa 
solicitously. 

"Jed  gits  everything  you  do,  Pa,"  Ma  informed 
him,  "so  don't  worry." 

"Mr.  Peyton's  girl,  Agnes,  was  in  the  office 
116 


OPAL 

yesterday,  and  I  told  her  that  she'd  see  Opal  up 
to  the  picnic  with  Seftie  Woods — and  Agnes,  she 
looked  surprised;  and  she  said,  'Then  that's  why 
he  wouldn't  go  up  with  our  crowd.'  Seftie,  he 
goes  with  their  crowd  considerable,  you  know," 
Pa  told  Ma. 

"Land,  Pa,  I  don't  see  how  you  dast  to  gab 
so  free  with  Mr.  Peyton's  girl.  Him  bein'  your 
boss,  and  worth  half  a  million." 

"Oh,  she's  a  friendly  little  thing,"  answered 
Pa,  easily.  "She's  always  askin'  the  men  about 
their  families.  And  don't  you  remember,  Ma, 
Agnes  graduated  in  the  same  class  with  Opal?" 

"Yes,  and  she  gave  Opal  a  little  book  of  pomes 
for  a  graduatin'  present.  And  I  suppose  that  if 
Opal  'd  had  the  clothes  and  could  have  enter- 
tained like  Agnes  does,  that  she'd  a-been  goin' 
in  that  crowd  to-day,"  sighed  Ma.  "Agnes  did 
ast  Opal  to  a  afternoon  party  when  they  was  jest 
out  of  school ;  but  Opal  couldn't  go  on  account 
of  her  shoes — and  about  a  million  other  things." 

"That's  the  way  it  goes,"  said  Pa,  with  a  poor 
man's  philosophy;  then  he  added,  loyalty  to  his 
boss  or  anybody  related  to  him  being  -a  vital 
part  of  his  appreciative  soul,  "but  I'll  bet  Agnes 
wouldn't  'a'  minded  Opal's  shoes!" 

"Mebbe  not;  but  Opal  'd  'a'  minded  'em," 
117 


OPAL 

returned  Ma,  grimly.  "Opal,"  she  called  at  the 
stair  door,  "stop  your  primpin'  and  come  down 
and  let  your  Pa  and  Jed  see  how  you  look  afore 
they  go  to  work." 

"Ain't  that  Seftie,  now  ?"  asked  Pa. 

' '  Gracious,  no ;  Pa,  don't  you  know  the  squeak 
of  the  milkman's  wagon  by  this  time?  You're 
pretty  nigh  as  nervous  this  mornin'  as  I  be." 

Dressed  in  her  new  white  gown,  with  the  pretty 
hat  that  she  had  trimmed  the  night  before  set 
jauntily  above  the  waves  of  her  brown  hair,  her 
slim,  rounded  young  arms  decorously  covered 
with  the  long  white  gloves  which  Jed  had  given 
her  so  that  she  might  look  like  "other  folks," 
Opal  came  happily  down -stairs  to  show  her 
picnic  finery  to  Pa  and  Jed.  She  had  pinned 
a  bunch  of  rose-red  garden  pinks  in  her  belt, 
and  they  were  scarcely  brighter  than  her  flushed 
cheeks. 

"Why  don't  you  say  somethin',  Pa?"  asked 
his  wife,  as  he  stared  at  Opal. 

"I  didn't  suppose  she'd  look  anything  like 
that!"  Pa  was  forced  to  concede,  scarcely  believ- 
ing that  this  beautiful  apparition  was  his  usually 
plain  little  daughter. 

"Like  what?"  demanded  Ma,  fearing  adverse 
criticism. 

118 


OPAL 

"So  bridey — Opal  '11  never  look  more  like  a 
bride  than  she  does  now,"  announced  Pa,  boldly. 

Jed  said  nothing;  but  Opal  knew  by  his  ap- 
proving glance  that  he  thought  that  Sefton  would 
be  satisfied  with  her  appearance. 

"Opal,  I  dunno  but  what  you  oughter  kiss 
your  father  good-bye,  seein'  you're  goin'  way  off 
t'other  side  of  the  county,"  advised  her  mother. 
"Do  it  now,"  she  ordered,  "afore  you  forgit  it." 
The  Flickingers  were  always  very  chary  of  any 
show  of  affection  either  in  private  or  public,  but 
Ma  felt  that  this  was  an  occasion  out  of  the 
ordinary. 

"I  don't  dast,"  grinned  Pa;  "Opal's  so  kinder 
grand-like,"  he  apologized. 

"And  Jed,  too,"  directed  Ma;  "it  '11  be  better 
to  remember  if  somethin'  unforeseen  should 
happen." 

Then  Jed  heroically  kissed  his  little  sister,  and 
Pa  awkwardly  followed  suit,  as  one  who  dreaded 
to  do  a  thing  and  yet  was  not  really  averse. 

"Well,  so  long,  Opal,"  was  her  father's  ge- 
nial farewell.  "Have  a  good  time."  And  Pa 
grabbed  his  dinner-pail  and  hurried  away;  but 
as  he  hastened  down  the  street  his  neighbor's 
blooming  roses  looked  good  to  him,  and  the  air 
of  the  fresh  June  morning  was  like  balm.  He 
119 


OPAL 

was  almost  as  happy  as  Opal  in  thinking  of  the 
picnic,  and  at  every  street  corner  he  half  expected 
to  see  the  red-wheeled  carriage  and  the  sleek 
black  horse  of  Sefton  Woods. 

"I'm  all  of  a  twitter,"  declared  Ma,  who  was 
constantly  looking  down  the  road. 

"Quit  worryin',  Ma,"  advised  Jed,  "it  ain't 
time  for  Seftie  to  be  here  yet.  I'll  probably 
meet  him  about  by  Blue  Creek  Bridge.  I'll  tell 
Seftie  you're  ready,  Opal,"  promised  Jed,  as  he 
started  for  the  farm. 

' '  I  wisht  Fernie  Bistle  'd  happen  over  so's  to 
see  your  new  clothes,"  said  Ma.  "Funny,  but 
that  girl  ain't  been  over  here  for  a  week — but 
then  that's  her  way,  one  day  she  pretty  nigh 
eats  you  up,  the  next  she  won't  scurcely  speak 
to  you.  Is  she  goin'  to  the  picnic,  Opal  ?" 

"I  haven't  seen  Fernie  either  for  several  days, 
so  I  don't  know." 

"But  I  thought  you  might  have  heard  Jed 
say,  he's  a-hangin'  around  there  pretty  nigh 
every  evenin'.  Though  what  he  sees  in  Fern 
Bistle's  more'n  I  know.  But  Fern's  the  only 
girl  he  does  see  much  of  besides  you — and  I  sup- 
pose it's  natural  for  him  to  be  besnizzled  with 
somebody. 

"Opal,  I'm  goin*  to  put  in  two  of  my  six  best 


OPAL 

napkins  in  the  lunch,  and  don't  you  dast  to 
leave  'em  off'n  your  mind  for  a  minute  when 
they're  out  of  the  basket  at  dinner-time ;  see  to  it 
that  if  Seftie  ain't  got  his'n  in  his  hand  that 
you've  got  your  eye  on  it.  I  can't  afford  to 
lose  'em.  And  if  there's  anything  else  that  you 
can  think  of  that  'd  give  your  lunch  a  tony  air, 
jest  say  the  word  and  in  she  goes!  I  know  it's 
a  tug  for  us  to  do  anything  like  other  folks ;  but 
we're  goin'  to  do  it  for  jest  this  onct !" 

"It's  quarter  of  eight — do  you  suppose  he'll 
be  here  by  eight?"  asked  Opal,  anxiously,  her 
eyes  on  the  clock. 

"He  oughter  be  here  now,"  fretted  her  mother. 

' '  I  might  put  on  an  apron  and  wipe  the  dishes 
for  you,"  offered  Opal. 

"No,"  refused  Ma,  "don't  do  a  thing  but  wait. 
Besides,  you'll  splatter  yourself  all  up.  And, 
Opal,  when  you're  up  there  remember  to  be 
awful  careful  of  your  clothes.  And  when  you're 
walkin'  in  the  grove  with  Seftie,  don't  link  arms 
with  him  unless  they's  roots  in  the  path — or  it's 
stony.  To  be  a-continually  linkin'  arms  in  broad 
daylight  looks  like  you  wa'n't  stubbed  enough 
to  git  along  by  yourself. 

"And  don't  forgit  to  thank  Seftie  for  every- 
thing," cautioned  her  mother,  who  was  giving  a 

121 


OPAL 

continuous  monologue,  "and  tell  him  what  a 
pleasant  time  you've  had  when  it's  all  over. 
'Cause  it  is  nice  of  him  to  take  you  way  up  there 
in  his  red-wheeled  horse  and  buggy;  it  ain't 
every  girl  that's  got  that  chance  to-day;  and  I 
hate  to  see  folks  take  benefits  and  say  nothin' 
in  return.  It  looks  tight.  And  I  kinder  hate 
to  think  of  your  ridin'  so  fur  with  such  a  young 
boy  to  drive  the  horse." 

"Seftie's  voted  twice,"  reminded  Opal. 

"Still,  he's  kinder  kiddy -actin',"  criticised  Ma. 
"And  suppose  the  harness  should  break,  or  the 
buggy  'd  suddenly  give  out  in  some  unseen  part, 
or  the  horse  'd  take  it  into  his  head  to  git 
balky?" 

"If  I  stopped  to  think  of  everything  that 
might  happen,  I'd  never  go  at  all,"  said  Opal,  pa- 
tiently. 

"That's  right,"  admitted  Ma,  who  was  in  her 
most  pacific  mood.  "And  I'll  betche  that  Fern 
Bistle  'd  give  all  her  old  shoes  to  be  standin'  in 
yours  to-day.  She  always  was  crazy  about 
Seftie  Woods,  but  she's  never  got  him  yit.  Land 
sakes!"  exclaimed  Ma,  as  she  looked  out  of  the 
window,  "if  there  ain't  Fern  now  paradin'  on 
their  front  porch,  with  her  lace  waist  on  and  her 
hair  as  big  as  seven  bushel  baskets.  She's  caught 


OPAL 

somebody,  I'll  betche,  to  take  her  up  to  the 
picnic." 

"And,  Opal,  there  goes  Willie  Briggs  on  his 
way  to  the  boat ;  ain't  he  slick  ?  And  he'll  look 
jest  that  way  when  he  gits  back.  I  dunno  how 
Willie  manages  to  do  it — I  guess  he  jest  naturally 
can't  git  dirty  like  other  folks,  it  ain't  in  him. 
I  wisht  Seftie  'd  happen  along  now  so  Willie  'd 
see  him.  Still,  you'd  never  know  whether  it 
fazed  Willie  or  not,  his  face's  always  jest  like 
a  chiny  doll's,  bright  and  shiny  without  any 
particular  expression. 

"And  Opal,  at  last!  Willie's  out  of  sight;  but 
I  see  red  wheels  a-comin'  down  Bistle  Avenue — 
Seftie's  almost  here.  Put  on  your  hat,  put  on 
your  gloves,  you  can  take  'em  off  later  and  put 
'em  in  tissue-paper  till  you  git  to  the  picnic 
grounds.  Land,  how  flustered  I  be!  I  wisht 
I  hadn't  let  you  go.  I  feel  all  gone — jest  as  if 
somethin'  was  goin'  to  happen!" 

Ever  since  her  mother  had  reluctantly  given 
her  consent,  the  pleasant  consciousness  that  she 
was  going  to  the  picnic  with  Sefton  Woods  had 
run  through  all  of  Opal's  thoughts  like  a  magic 
rivulet,  whose  alluring  waters  sparkled  amid  the 
dull  commonplaces  of  her  every-day  life.  But 
she  had  been  also  haunted  by  the  fear  that  some- 
123 


OPAL 

thing  might  prevent  her  going.  And  now  when 
her  mother  said  that  Sefton  was  almost  at  the 
door,  Opal  would  not  look  out  to  see,  but  waited 
tremblingly  for  his  approach. 

They  heard  a  quick  step  on  the  front  porch. 
"Whatever  possessed  Seftie  to  come  in  that 
way?"  cried  Ma. 

Opal  hurried  to  the  door,  conscious  all  at  once 
of  her  pretty  new  clothes,  and  remembering 
Sefton's  ardent  farewell  the  last  evening  he  had 
been  with  her.  But  she  felt  shy  and  unable  to 
meet  him  after  all  their  elaborate  preparations 
for  the  picnic. 

With  a  fluttering  timidity,  she  opened  the  door. 

"Opal,  what  're  you  doin'  out  there  so  long?" 
called  her  mother.  "  Wa'n't  that  Seftie  ?" 

"It  was  the  postman,"  Opal  found  herself 
saying.  And  she  had  just  read  this  letter  that 
he  had  left: 

DEAR  FRIEND, — It  was  unnecessary  for  me  to  write 
this  note,  I  suppose ;  yet  I  felt  that  I  should  rather  do 
it.  Of  course  you  will  not  care  to  go  to  the  picnic 
with  me  now.  So  I  will  release  you  from  your  promise, 
and  remain,  very  sincerely,  your  friend, 

SEFTON  WOODS. 

"What  'd  the  postman  leave?"  questioned  Ma. 
"A  letter." 

124 


OPAL 

"Who  to?"  Ma  wanted  to  know. 

"Me." 

"Well,  don't  be  so  short  about  it.  Is  it  from 
your  sister  Elvie?  Or  is  it  jest  a  add?" 

Opal  felt  that  she  could  not  reply;  but  she 
returned  to  the  sitting-room,  knowing  that  the 
situation  would  have  to  be  explained  to  her 
mother. 

"Land!  what  ails  you,  Opal?  You  look 
whiter'n  your  dress.  Who's  your  letter  from  ?',' 

"Sefton.     We  are  not  going  to  the  picnic." 

"Heaven  to  Betsy!"  screamed  Ma,  "not  goin'  ? 
Don't  tell  me  that — after  all  this  tuggin'  to  git 
you  ready!  You're  holdin'  somethin'  back  here. 
Somethin's  hid.  Spit  it  out,  Miss,"  cried  her 
mother,  angrily. 

"He  says — in  his  letter — that  I  don't  need  to 
keep  my  promise — don't  need  to  go  with  him  to 
the  picnic,"  faltered  poor  Opal,  as  mystified  by 
the  note  as  her  mother  was. 

"Well,  of  all  messy  performances  this  takes  the 
cake!"  scolded  Ma.  "All  right,  all  right  for  you, 
Mr.  Seftie  Woods ;  you  jest  begged  me  on  bended 
knees — all  but — for  Opal  to  go,  and  then  you  ups 
and  gives  her  the  go-by! 

"Opal,  don't  never  speak  to  Sefton  Woods 
ag'in  as  long  as  you  live — if  you  do  I'll  cuff  you! 
9  125 


OPAL 

The  triflin'  ijut!  Gimme  that  there  letter. 
Mebbe  you  didn't  git  the  right  sense  to  it."  But 
when  Ma  had  read  the  letter  she  was  more  indig- 
nant than  ever,  and  ended  by  saying,  "Well, 
well,  after  all  our  tuggin — well,  I  snum!" 

"But  there's  some  misunderstanding,"  pleaded 
Opal;  "probably  he'll  be  down  this  evening  and 
explain — maybe  his  mother's  sick." 

"Don't  think  it,"  snapped  Ma.  "If  it  was 
anything  sensible  that  ailed  him  he'd  'a'  put  it  in 
his  letter.  No,  he's  jest  what  I  always  thought 
he  was — shaller — and  triflin'.  And  I  see  it  all 
now.  Sef  Woods  is  one  of  them  domineerin' 
young  fellers,  and  when  I  don't  want  him  to  come 
here,  why,  then  he's  bound  to  do  it ;  but  as  soon 
as  I  gives  in  and  says  he  can  take  you  to 
the  picnic — why  then  he  cools  off. 

"Strawberries!"  ejaculated  Ma,  "it  makes  me 
fightin'  mad  to  think  of  'em.  I  guess,  Opal, 
you're  well  rid  of  Sef  tie  Woods;  for  after  all  of 
his  workin'  to  git  my  consent  for  you  to  go  to  the 
picnic,  he  didn't  really  want  to  go  with  you. 
He's  an  only  child — that's  what's  the  matter 
with  him.  And  he's  been  so  pampered  that  he 
don't  know  what  he  wants." 

Suddenly  she  shrieked:  "Lookie,  Opal,  run 
to  the  front  window  and  look !  There  goes  Sef  tie 
126 


OPAL 

now  with  Fern  Bistle  in  his  buggy!  It  must 
have  been  his  buggy  I  saw  comin',  after  all,  and 
he  stopped  to  Bistle's.  Land  o'  Goshen,  it's 
give  me  a  turn ! ' '  And  Ma,  grasping  a  newspaper, 
quickly  doubled  it  into  a  fan  and  flapped  it  in 
front  of  her  flushed  face. 

"Oh  no,  it  can't  be,"  cried  Opal,  who  had 
caught  but  a  glimpse  of  the  carriage  as  it 
passed. 

"It  was  too,  it  was  too,"  contradicted  her 
mother,  violently,  "'cause  the  buggy  had  red 
wheels!  I  dunno  when  I've  had  a  turn  like 
this!"  she  gasped,  fanning  and  rocking  and  talk- 
ing all  at  once.  "You're  certainly  well  rid  of 
him,"  she  decided. 

Opal  was  too  distressed  to  reply;  but  she 
looked  drearily  out  of  the  window  at  the  roses 
that  flaunted  their  vivid  red  velvet  blossoms 
in  the  bright  June  sunshine,  and  seemed  to  mock 
her  with  their  beauty. 

"I'm  a-goin'  right  over  to  Mis'  Bistle's  to  onct 
to  return  that  cup  of  tea  I  borrowed  of  her," 
informed  Ma.  "I  mean  to  see  what's  the 
meanin'  of  this!" 

"Oh  no,  don't;  please  don't,"  implored  Opal, 
fearing  that  her  mother  would  say  too  much. 

"I  will  too  go — why  not?" 
127 


OPAL 

"Oh,  don't — it  would  look  so,"  urged  Opal, 
desperately. 

"I  don't  care  how  it  looks — it  '11  do  me 
good,"  claimed  Ma,  grimly.  "The  deceivin' 
young  snipper.  Somethin's  hid  here.  I  thought 
I  heard  Sef  Woods's  voice  on  Bistle's  stoop  last 
night.  Well,  anyway,  this  is  the  last  of  him." 

And  Ma,  after  tying  on  a  clean  white  apron 
and  brushing  back  her  straggling  tags  of  hair, 
went  elegantly  over  to  Mis'  Bistle's  by  the  front 
way,  stopping  leisurely  to  admire  the  flowers  on 
the  lawn,  while  Opal  waited  for  her  return  with 
an  agony  of  apprehension.  For  she  felt  certain 
that  her  mother  would  make  an  undignified  dis- 
play of  her  chagrin  at  Seftie's  taking  Fern  instead 
of  herself. 

But  Opal  had  reckoned  without  a  positive 
knowledge  of  what  her  mother  would  do.  When 
Ma  returned  fifteen  minutes  later,  Opal  asked 
no  questions,  but  she  flinched  from  her  mother's 
frank  relish  of  the  situation ;  for  Ma  had  not  been 
so  animated  and  chatty  for  weeks.  It  gave  her 
something  new  to  talk  about,  and  it  broke  up  the 
growing  intimacy  of  Sef  ton  Woods  and  Opal. 

"I  says,  'What  a  pleasant  day  for  the  Old 
Folks'  Picnic,'"  related  Ma,  "and  Mis'  Bistle 
she  says,  kinder  meachin-like  as  if  I  was  goin' 
128 


OPAL 

to  be  mad,  'So  't  is,  and  Fernie  and  Seftie  got  a 
good  start.' 

"And  I  says  as  sweet  as  possible,  'How  nice  it 
was  for  Fern  to  go  up  by  horse  and  buggy  instead 
of  by  boat  as  Opal  was  invited  to ;  for  that  there 
river  boat's  liable  to  git  stuck  on  a  sand-bar, 
and  no  knowin'  then  when  they'd  git  home.' 

"'Seftie  kinder  wanted  Fern  to  go  up  with 
him,  and  I  hated  to  say  no,'  Mis'  Bistle  says. 
'He's  such  a  nice-mannered  boy,  and  then  an 
old  friend.' 

"  'Jest  so,'  says  I,  'and  ain't  he  a  pleasant- 
spoken  boy,  too?'  I  puts  in,  and  Mis'  Bistle  she 
was  plump  flabbergasted.  And  she  don't 
know  now  whether  you  give  Seftie  the  go-by,  or 
whether  I  give  it  to  him ;  but  she  reckons  by  my 
cheerful  bearin'  that  he  didn't  give  the  go-by  to 
nobody  in  this  family.  That's  what  I  went  over 
there  for — mostly.  I  didn't  find  out  nothin', 
but  I  druv  somethin'  home,  and  that  is  that  none 
of  us  is  a-cryin'  our  eyes  out  for  Sef  Woods. 

"And  now,  Opal,  you  can  put  your  mind  on 
your  school-teachin',"  said  her  mother  with  grow- 
ing complacency,  "seein'  that  Sef  has  handed 
you  out  his  lemon,  as  it's  stylish  to  say  to-day. 
And  the  first  thing  for  you  to  do  '11  be  to  take  off 
that  there  new  dress,  and  the  next  thing  '11  be 
129 


OPAL 

to  git  out  your  old  school-books  and  begin  to 
brush  up  for  examination.  Land !  it  makes  me 
pretty  nigh  sick  abed  when  I  think  how  we 
tugged  to  git  you  up  genteel — and  then  all  for 
nothin'." 

Taking  off  the  new  dress  and  putting  away 
the  unworn  gloves  and  hat  was  an  ordeal  for 
Opal.  And  she  could  not  make  it  seem  real 
that  Sefton  Woods  had  taken  Fern  instead  of 
herself  to  the  picnic.  But  she  did  not  blame  him, 
she  only  thought  that  she  must  have  offended 
him  without  knowing  it,  and  tried  to  hide  her 
hurt  from  her  mother's  keen  eye.  In  all  Opal's 
monotonous  young  life  there  had  never  been 
such  a  catastrophe  as  this. 

Grimly  Ma  unpacked  the  picnic  lunch  at  noon, 
and  she  and  Opal  ate  part  of  it  for  their  dinner. 
Though  the  food  seemed  to  choke  her,  Opal 
dared  not  refuse  to  eat  lest  her  mother  upbraid 
her  for  lack  of  spirit.  And  Opal  dreaded  supper- 
time  when  her  father  and  Jed  would  be  told  of 
Sefton's  riding  by  with  Fern;  but  she  fortified 
herself  to  bear  it,  forlornly  hoping  that  Jed  might 
have  something  new  to  tell  her. 

Pa  Flickinger  came  .home  from  the  factory 
that  night  fresher  than  usual,  for  he  had  worked 
all  day  with  the  pleasant  consciousness  that  Opal 
130 


OPAL 

was  having  a  good  time.  And  he  looked  forward 
to  hearing  her  description  of  the  trip  in  the  even- 
ing. Jed  came  home  a  little  sooner  than  usual, 
his  old  wagon  rattling  an  accompaniment  to  his 
cheerful  whistle. 

The  men  looked  surprised  to  see  Opal,  but  said 
nothing,  supposing  that  she  had  come  back  early 
from  the  picnic. 

"Well,  Jeddie  and  Pa,  have  you  heard  the 
latest  news?"  inquired  Ma,  genially,  as  the  fam- 
ily sat  down  to  supper ;  for  by  this  time  Ma  had 
begun  to  feel  as  if  Providence  had  taken  a  hand 
in  removing  Sefton  Woods  from  Opal's  path  so 
that  she  might  put  her  mind  more  fully  on  her 
books. 

"What  news?"  asked  Jed,  though  without 
much  concern. 

And  Pa  Flickinger,  industriously  piling  his 
plate  with  fried  potatoes,  pickled  beets,  and  a 
great  slab  of  fat  pork,  did  not  even  know  that  his 
wife  had  spoken. 

"Opal  didn't  go  to  the  picnic,"  announced  Ma, 
importantly. 

"Didn't  go?"  echoed  Pa,  suddenly  taking  part 
in  the  conversation. 

"Didn't  go?"  repeated  Jed,  a  puzzled  frown 
bringing  his  heavy  brows  together. 


OPAL 

"That's  jest  what  I  said — didn't  go,"  stated 
Ma,  with  keen  relish. 

"What  stopped  Seftie  ?"  demanded  Jed  shortly. 

"Nothin'  stopped  him — he  has  went,"  returned 
Ma,  impressively. 

"Was  Opal  sick?"  inquired  Pa,  solicitously. 

"No  sir,"  replied  Ma,  with  spirit,  "Opal  was 
shook." 

"What  're  you  givin'  us,  Ma?"  asked  Jed, 
roughly. 

"The  livin',  breathin'  truth — .  And  who  do 
you  suppose  he  did  take  instead  of  our  Opal? 
He  took  that  there  young  frizzle-top  that  you're 
so  stuck  on,  Jed  Flickinger — Fernie  Bistle." 

"What!"  shouted  Pa,  "did  Seftie  Woods  cut 
our  Opal  for  that  rattlepate?" 

"That's  jest  what  he  did,"  responded  Ma, 
curtly.  "They  rid  by  here  as  big  as  cuffy. 
Opal,  why  don't  you  eat  your  supper?  That 
girl  ain't  touched  a  thing." 

Opal  began  to  eat  with  the  strange  feeling  that 
though  she  managed  to  chew  her  food  she  might 
not  be  able  to  swallow  it.  Her  father  stopped 
eating,  his  loaded  knife  suspended  midway  in 
air,  and  looked  solemnly  at  his  daughter;  then 
he  put  his  knife  down,  and  took  a  long  draught 
of  coffee  instead. 

132 


OPAL 

"Now,  I  suppose,  Jed  Flickinger,  that  you'll 
git  it  into  your  thick  head  at  last  that  Fernie's  a 
flirt,"  said  Ma,  "and  that  Seftie  Woods  ain't 
much  better." 

"There's  some  mistake,"  said  Jed,  simply. 
"Seftie '11  explain  it  all." 

"He  has  explained  all  he's  goin'  to,"  answered 
Ma,  quickly;  "he  sent  Opal  a  dinky  little  note, 
a  kinder  highfalutin'  substitute  for  a  bounce. 
And  the  only  mistake  that  was  made  was  made 
by  me.  And  it  pays  me,"  she  went  on  bitterly, 
"for  goin'  ag'in  my  own  judgment.  I  never  did 
encourage  his  comin'  here  to  see  Opal." 

"All  I  say  is  this,  that  if  we'd  knowed  Seftie 
was  a-goin'  to  act  this  way,  we'd  'a'  saved  con- 
siderable expense  in  gettin'  Opal  ready  for  the 
picnic,"  stated  Pa,  emphatically.  "Money  don't 
grow  on  every  bush,"  he  added  gloomily. 

"That's  what  makes  me  so  fightin'  mad," 
agreed  Ma.  "Think  of  that  new  dress  that  we 
tugged  to  git,  and  that  new  hat,  and  them  new 
gloves — to  say  nothin'  of  raisins  and  all  that 
frostin'.  And  Opal  a-kissin'  you  and  Jed  good- 
bye— and  all  for  nothin'!" 

"If  folks  don't  want  to  go  with  us,  they  don't 
need  to,"  growled  Pa;  "but  I'd  a  leetle  ruther 
they  didn't  pretend  they  did  till  the  last  minute 


OPAL 

— and  then  give  us  the  go-by.  It  ain't  square. 
And  it  ain't  like  Seftie — neither,"  he  added  as  an 
afterthought. 

"Of  course  it  ain't,"  readily  allowed  Jed. 

"Jed,  ain't  you  got  gump  enough  to  git  huffy 
when  somebody  goes  off  with  your  best  girl?" 
complained  Ma.  "A  slam  like  that  'd  about 
squelch  me." 

"I  never  asked  Fern  to  go  to  the  picnic  with 
me,"  said  Jed. 

' '  No,  but  Seftie  ast  Opal,  and  he  got  the  con- 
sent out  of  me  with  his  old  case  of  strawberries. 
When  he  rid  by  with  Fern  I  could  'a'  slung  every 
can  in  his  silly  face — if  it  hadn't  been  such  a 
wicked  loss  of  good  berries.  But  Seftie's 
s-m-o-o-t-h,  and  Opal's  well  rid  of  him." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  contended  Jed, 
stubbornly. 

"Land!  how  ornery  and  disagreeable  a  body's 
own  young  ones  can  git, "  grumbled  Ma.  ' '  'Tain't 
square  for  Seftie  to  treat  Opal  the  way  he  has. 
And  you're  always  a-stickin'  out  for  people  to  be 
square,  Jed ;  but  if  Seftie  Woods  was  to  say  black 
was  white,  you'd  agree — and  you  know  it,  Jed 
Flickinger." 

"If  Seftie  did  the  way  it  looks,  of  course  it 
wasn't  square,"  readily  allowed  Jed.  "But 


OPAL 

you're  a-discreditin'  Seftie  before  you  hear  his 
side." 

"There's  somethin'  hid  here,"  declared  Ma. 

"Sure,"  agreed  her  son,  "and  when  it  comes 
to  light,  we  won't  none  of  us  be  blamin'  Seftie." 

"But  I've  always  had  my  suspicions  that 
Seftie  Woods  wa'n't  all  he  was  bragged  up  to 
be,"  persisted  Ma. 

"If  I  couldn't  trust  folks  more  than  you  do, 
Ma,  I  wouldn't  want  to  live,"  vowed  Jed. 

' '  Sure, ' '  approved  Pa.  '  'And  mebbe  it  was  only 
a  young  ones'  squabble,  after  all,"  he  allowed 
generously.  For  now  that  he  had  feasted  on  the 
unusual  dainty  of  two  pieces  of  picnic  cake  with 
delectably  sweet  fillings,  he  was  inclined  to  take 
a  more  hopeful  view  of  the  situation  than  he  had 
been  at  the  beginning.  "You  look  tired,  Opal," 
he  said,  wishing  in  some  way  to  show  his  sym- 
pathy for  his  pale  little  daughter,  whose  uncom- 
plaining attitude  touched  him  more  than  all  her 
mother's  faultfinding. 

"Opal  is  tired,"  put  in  Ma,  quickly,  before 
Opal  could  speak.  "She's  worked  like  tunket 
all  day.  Seftie's  go-by  ain't  a-fazin'  Opal  none. 
And  Opal's  been  a-lookin'  over  her  old  school- 
books  with  a  view  to  writin'  for  a  teacher's  stiffcut. 
Opal's  goin'  to  teach  school  and  be  somebody." 


OPAL 

"Teachin's  hard  work,  Ma,"  warned  the  girl's 
father. 

"A  settin'  on  a  chair  a-listenin'  to  a  passel  of 
young  ones  say  their  lessons  —  I  guess  yes," 
sniffed  Ma. 

"But  the  responsibility,"  reminded  her  hus- 
band. 

"Opal  ain't  a-worryin'  herself  about  that — so 
you  needn't,  Pa,"  advised  his  wife. 

In  the  evening  Opal's  father  and  mother 
silently  read  the  paper,  while  Opal  pretended  to 
read  a  book ;  but  she  had  no  idea  of  what  thought 
the  words  conveyed,  though  she  regularly  turned 
the  leaves.  Pa  was  so  out  of  sorts  that  for  once 
he  forgot  to  growl  about  the  clipped  editorials. 
Ma  was  the  only  one  that  seemed  in  good-humor, 
for  the  longer  she  considered  the  events  of  the 
day,  the  better  pleased  she  was  to  think  that 
Opal  was  free  from  Sefton  Woods.  And  when 
Jed  came  in  from  the  barn  and  took  up  a  book, 
Ma,  who  seemed  possessed  of  the  demon  of  con- 
versation, would  not  let  him  take  any  sense  of 
his  reading. 

"Jed,  is  old  George  all  right?"  she  inquired, 
pleasantly. 

"Sure,"  answered  Jed,  absently. 
136 


OPAL 

"Did  you  feed  him?"  This  was  a  perfectly 
useless  question,  as  Jed  always  fed  the  horse. 

"Yep." 

"I  don't  like  to  keep  anything  on  the  place 
that  ain't  fed  reg'lar,"  remarked  Ma. 

"I  said  he  was  fed." 

"Is  his  hay  shook  down,  too?" 

Jed  nodded  his  head  affirmatively. 

"Did  you  bed  him  decent?" 

Jed  nodded  again. 

"And  lock  the  door?" 

Her  son  threw  the  key  on  the  table. 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  we'd  all  better  go  to  bed," 
decided  Ma,  "  'cause  I  put  the  cat  out  half  an 
hour  ago.  And  it's  pretty  nigh  eight,  and  there's 
no  use  in  our  draggin'  around  here  any  longer. 
It's  been  a  long,  disagreeable,  tedious  day,  and  I 
for  one  will  be  glad  to  be  shut  of  it." 

"What  're  you  readin',  Opal?"  asked  her 
brother,  as  he  passed  her  on  his  way  up-stairs, 
not  because  he  wanted  to  know,  but  because 
he  wanted  in  some  way  to  comfort  his  sis- 
ter. 

"Why — I — a  book,"  answered  Opal,  the  ready 
tears  overflowing  at  this  sign  of  interest  from  her 
brother. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  let — you  know  what — worry 
i37 


OPAL 

you  too  much,  Opal,"  he  said  with  clumsy  sym- 
pathy. 

"Jed,"  cried  Ma,  sharply,  who  had  not  caught 
what  he  said,  but  who,  in  the  usual  fashion  of 
overanxious  parents,  put  the  worst  possible 
construction  on  it,  "don't  pick  a  quarrel  with 
your  sister  at  this  time  of  night !  I  do  hope  you 
two  young  ones  ain't  a-goin'  to  come  Billie  and 
Jule  on  it." 

Opal  closed  her  book  and  silently  left  the  room, 
worn  out  by  the  day's  disappointments,  and 
feeling  that  there  would  never  be  any  pleasure 
for  her  again  in  the  future. 


VI 
J  E  D'S    JONATHAN 

IF  Opal's  home  had  seemed  dingy  and  com- 
monplace when  Sefton  Woods  was  showing 
her  so  much  attention,  it  seemed  immeas- 
urably dingier  and  more  commonplace,  now 
that  he  left  her  entirely  alone.  And  there  were 
no  pleasant  social  duties  to  break  the  dreary 
monotony  of  the  dragging  days,  each  filled  with 
unlovely  tasks  and  darkened  by  her  mother's 
nagging.  A  bitter  antidote  for  young  love,  but 
all  that  her  drab-colored  life  offered.  For  Sefton 
Woods  did  not  write  nor  in  any  way  explain  his 
conduct  on  the  day  of  the  picnic ;  and  Opal  was 
too  proud  to  write  to  him,  or  to  allow  Jed  to  in- 
tercede for  her. 

And  all  through  the  beautiful  June  afternoons 
when  the  housework  was  done,  Opal  conscien- 
tiously pored  over  her  old  school-books,  trying 
drearily  to  recall  the  long  rules  in  grammar  and 
arithmetic  that  she  had  never  quite  understood. 


OPAL 

And  to-day,  as  she  sat  unhappily  in  the  stuffy 
parlor,  for  her  mother  considered  this  the  proper 
place  to  study,  the  air  heavy  with  the  odor  of  its 
dusty  ingrain  carpet,  Ma  and  Pa  Flickinger  were 
on  the  cool  back  porch  discussing  family  prob- 
lems. It  was  Saturday,  and  so  a  half-holiday 
at  the  factory. 

"Pa,  if  you  don't  stop  puttin'  so  many  aidges 
on  your  hoe,  you  won't  have  no  hoe  left,"  warned 
Ma  Flickinger,  economically,  as  her  husband  was 
finishing  his  hoe  with  a  whetstone. 

"  'Tain't  right,  Ma,  summat  ought  to  be  done 
about  it,"  remarked  Pa,  though  he  did  not  refer 
to  the  hoe. 

"If  you  cared  to  name  what  was  hetchelin' 
you  up,  I'd  know  whether  or  not  to  be  sorry," 
observed  Ma,  as  she  peeled  potatoes  for  sup- 
per. 

"I  dunno  who's  to  blame,  but  it  ain't  right 
to  let  it  run,"  went  on  Pa. 

"Jest  like  a  man,"  cried  Ma. 

"What  is?"  demanded  Pa. 

"The  way  you  talk  about  somethin's  goin' 
wrong.  You  jest  let  out  a  few  disconnected 
grunts,  and  then  expect  your  women -folks  to 
rush  in  with  a  bucketful  of  sympathy." 

' '  It's  about  the  misunderstandin'  that's  growed 
140 


OPAL 

up  between  our  Jeddie  and  Seftie  Woods,"  in- 
formed Pa. 

'"Tain't  worryin'  me  a  bit.  What  're  you 
'lowin'  to  hoe  to-night  ?"  she  asked  to  change  the 
subject. 

"Carrots.  But  their  little  misunderstanding 
worryin'  me,  Ma,  more'n  you  think.  Somethin' 
oughter  be  done  to  straighten  it  out." 

' '  I  don't  look  at  it  that  way.  You'll  cultivate 
your  carrots  to  death,  Pa;  they'll  grow  if  they 
ain't  stirred  up  every  whipstitch." 

But  Pa's  mind  was  not  on  the  garden,  and  for 
once  he  was  not  to  be  turned  from  the  subject 
that  was  worrying  him,  and  he  stubbornly  con- 
tinued: "Jed  and  Seftie's  little  fallin'  out  has 
set  my  mind  to  runnin'  on  them  two  Bible 
characters,  where  it  says,  'And  David's  soul  was 
knit  with  that  of  Jonathan's,'  or  words  to  that 
effect.  And  I  can't  help  but  feel  that  Seftie 
Woods  is  Jed's  Jonathan.  Don't  you  remember, 
Ma,  Jonathan  was  the  king's  son,  and  David 
was  only  the  son  of  a  servant ;  but  the  two  lads 
was  true  blue  to  each  other,  come  what  might  ?" 

"I  dunno,"  returned  Ma,  indifferently,  "  'pears 
like  I  might  have  heard  somethin'  along  that  line 
— somewheres." 

"And  Jed's  takin'  it  mighty  hard  to  be  broke 

10  141 


OPAL 

off  from  Seftie  Woods.  Boys  have  feelin's," 
stated  Pa,  as  if  this  might  be  a  matter  of  con- 
siderable doubt. 

"Nobody's  denyin'  it,"  retorted  Ma.  "You 
talk  as  if  I  was  to  blame  for  their  fallin'  apart. 
When  did  I  ever  say  ought  ag'in  Jed  and  Seftie's 
bein'  friendly?" 

"Well,  mebbe  you  didn't,"  allowed  Pa.  "And 
nothin's  comlier  to  my  mind,  Ma,  than  two  husky 
lads  a-holdin'  a  silent  likin'  for  each  other." 

"They've  done  all  the  breakin'  up  theirselves 
that's  been  done,"  Ma  told  him. 

"Still,  they  ain't  quarreled  none;  but  they've 
fell  apart  from  some  reason  unbeknown  to  me. 
It's  jest  a  little  rift  in  the  jewsharp,"  insisted  Pa ; 
"and  a  word  from  headquarters — meanin'  you, 
Ma — might  work  wonders." 

"But  the  quarrel  wa'n't  none  of  Jed's  doin's," 
reminded  Ma.  "Look  how  Seftie  Woods  begged 
me  all  but  on  bended  knees  to  let  Opal  go  with 
him  to  the  Old  Folks'  Picnic,  and  up  and  give 
me  a  hull  case  of  strawberries  to  git  me  good- 
natured;  and  then  never  come  nigh  Opal — jest 
sent  such  a  dinky  little  note — and  then  ride  by 
with  Fern  Bistle.  I  guess  Mr.  Seftie  feels 
sneakin'  and  don't  care  to  go  with  Jed  none." 

"But  there  might  be  a  mistake,  Ma;  mebbe 
142 


OPAL 

it  could  be  patched  up.  When  a  feller's  startin' 
out  in  life  like  our  Jeddie,  it's  a  good  thing  to 
have  friends." 

"Friends — yes,"  agreed  Ma,  significantly;  "but 
I  dunno  as  you  could  call  Seftie  Woods  a  friend 
now.  Mebbe  Jed's  jest  found  him  out." 

"But  look  what  Sef tie's  done  for  our  Jed;  he 
encouraged  Jed  to  leave  the  factory  and  go  to 
college,  where  he  could  learn  to  farm  right." 

"Talk  don't  cost  nothin',"  put  in  Ma. 

"No,  but  it's  worth  more'n  money  sometimes. 
Seftie  put  confidence  and  ambition  into  our  lad, 
and  a  desire  to  do  things  right.  We  oughter 
never  forgit  that." 

"Jed's  'd  dumb  to  the  top,  anyway,  without 
any  such  smooth  friend  as  Seftie  Woods,"  as- 
serted Ma.  "Jed's  like  me — -all  go." 

"Mebbe  he'd  'a'  clumb,"  Pa  spoke  doubtfully. 
"But,  Ma,  friends  ain't  so  plenty  in  this  world 
that  you  can  afford  to  let  'em  go  without  a 
word." 

"Pa,  you  must  be  gettin'  easier'n  usual." 

"I'm  a-gettin'  older,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
stated  Pa,  seriously.  "And  I  don't  like  to  see 
things  a-goin'  wrong  that  it  wouldn't  take  but 
a  word  to  set  right.  So,  if  you  won't  put  in  a 
word  for  the  boys  makin'  up,  I  will." 


OPAL 

"You  won't  do  no  such  thing,"  contradicted 
Ma,  violently.  "Let  'em  fight  it  out  theirselves." 

"Fight  nothin',"  denied  Pa.  "In  that  Bible 
story  it  says  somewheres,  'Passin'  the  love  of 
woman.'  Ma,  let's  patch  it  up." 

"Ain't  you  gettin'  a  skip  sentimental?" 

"Still,  I'd  a  leetle  ruther  patch  it  up,  if  you 
don't  mind,"  held  out  Jed's  father. 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  then,"  she  assented, 
angrily;  "but  mark  my  words,  if  the  boys  git 
thick  ag'in,  and  that  leads  to  Seftie's  gettin' 
sweet  on  Opal  ag'in,  and  then  he  gives  her  the 
go-by  ag'in,  you'll  have  only  yourself  to  blame. 
But  go  ahead." 

This  gloomy  forecast  so  subdued  Pa  that  he 
felt  himself  to  be  entirely  in  the  wrong,  and  only 
said,  "Mebbe  you're  right,  Ma.  I  certainly  don't 
want  to  make  any  more  trouble  for  Opal." 

That  evening  after  the  supper  work  was  done, 
Ma  Flickinger  called  to  Opal,  "Come  out  here  on 
the  back  stoop  and  git  a  breath  of  fresh  air." 

Opal  soon  appeared,  and  her  slim  young  form 
seemed  slighter  than  ever  to  her  mother's  dis- 
approving eye.  As  the  girl  sat  listlessly  on  the 
steps,  Ma  burst  out  petulantly: 

"I  always  dreaded  the  time  when  my  young 
ones  would  be  old  enough  to  be  married,  but  I 
144 


OPAL 

see  now  that  I  never  dreaded  it  enough.  Here 
you  are  dumpin'  around  on  account  of  a 
smooth-spoken  sprig  who  don't  care  for  nobody 
but  hisself." 

"Oh,  Ma — "  protested  Opal,  miserably. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,  now,  that  Seftie 
Woods  never  cared  for  you;  though  I  uster  think 
he  kinder  liked  your  brother  Jed. 

"And  look  at  Fernie  Bistle,"  worried  Ma;  "she 
can  wind  Jed  around  her  little  finger,  but  she 
never  notices  him  if  she  can  git  a  better-lookin' 
feller,  though  Jed  can't  see  it,  'cause  she's  gotta 
shock  of  yallow  hair.  And  every  time  anybody 
else  shakes  her,  why  Jed  he  takes  her  back.  It's 
born  in  Jed  Flickinger  to  be  a  kind  of  door-mat — 
and  he  don't  git  that  disagreeable  trait  from 
me,  neither." 

"But  Fern  'most  always  snubs  Jed,"  said 
Opal. 

"Not  always,"  returned  her  mother;  "I've 
saw  Fern  Bistle  as  sweet  as  sugar  to  our  Jed." 

"But  probably  Jed  won't  marry  Fern,  any- 
way," comforted  Opal. 

"Yes,  he  will,"  prophesied  Ma,  gloomily.  "I've 
got  a  leadin'  he  will,  'cause  nobody  else  '11  have 
her;  but  Jed's  that  besnizzled  that  he'd  marry 
her  anyway." 

MS 


OPAL 

"But  Jed  can't  help  it  if  he  cares  for  Fern," 
said  Opal,  courageously. 

"He  don't  want  to  help  it.  The  trouble  with 
Fern  is,"  went  on  Ma,  "she's  crooked,  and  she'll 
tell  fibs  when  the  truth  'd  serve  her  better — jest 
out'n  habit.  And  think  of  our  Jed  marryin' 
such  a  girl !  Why,  Jed's  so  honest  that  he  don't 
know  enough  to  lie ;  he's  always  a  -  blurtin'  out 
the  truth.  And  jest  think,  Opal,  of  marryin' 
into  the  Bistles'  —  then  we'd  have  to  invite 
them  over  here  every  Christmas  or  Thanks- 
givin',  or  git  invited  over  there,  or  how  'd  it 
look?" 

"I  thought  you  liked  Mrs.  Bistle,"  said  Opal, 
surprised. 

"I  do,  as  a  neighbor;  but  Bistles  ain't  the  kind 
of  folks  to  have  in  your  family — they're  touchy 
and  fussy.  Fernie's  been  spoilt;  but  Jed,  big 
gump,  he'd  be  tickled  to  death  to  make  hisself 
miserable  for  life  by  marryin'  her.  But,  praise 
be!  Opal,  I  don't  have  to  worry  about  your 
havin'  a  beau,  now,  since  you  handed  Willie 
Briggs  his  mitten,  and  since  Seftie  Woods  give 
you  the  go-by.  Now  you've  gotta  clear  mind 
to  study  for  your  stiffcut;  though  I  suppose  a 
graduate  like  you  could  pick  up  a  stiffcut  without 
lookin'  in  a  book." 

146 


OPAL 

"But  I  may  not  be  able  to  get  a  school  to 
teach,"  ventured  Opal. 

"A  graduate  can  always  git  a  school,"  affirmed 
Ma,  stubbornly.  "And  I  dunno  but  what  you'd 
better  go  to  the  school  commissioner  afore  long 
and  see  about  it.  And  it  kinder  tickles  me  to 
think  how  Willie  Briggs  and  Seftie  Woods,  who 
used  to  decorate  our  front  stoop  evenin's,  has 
both  went  for  good.  Opal,  what  ails  you?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  Opal,  though  her  face 
told  a  different  story ;  for  her  mother's  thought- 
less words  had  brought  back  the  memory  of 
Sefton  Woods  and  the  weeks  of  their  delightful 
companionship . 

"Opal,  you've  gotta  stop  this  here  moonin' 
'round.  Anything  but  a  girl  that's  gotta  have  a 
feller  or  she  ain't  got  no  ralish  for  nothin' !" 

"I'm  just  tired,  I  guess,"  said  Opal,  trying  to 
speak  naturally. 

"What  an  ungrateful  young  one,"  scolded  Ma. 
"Here  we've  educated  you,  and  you  don't  care 
whether  you  teach  or  not." 

"Opal's  a-lookin'  peaked  ag'in,"  complained 
her  father  after  she  had  gone  up-stairs  to  bed. 

"She  ain't,  neither;  she's  jest  a-spunkin'  'cause 
she  ain't  got  no  beau,"  claimed  Ma,  crossly. 

"I  don't  believe  it's  all  that,"  defended  Pa. 


OPAL 

"Mebbe  the  hot  weather's  took  the  tuck  out'n 
her — summat . ' ' 

"There's  always  excuses  to  be  found  if  you 
want  to  hunt  for  'em,  I  suppose,"  returned  his 
wife,  pointedly. 

"I  wouldn't  peg  away  on  that  there  old  coat 
too  late,"  advised  Pa,  not  pursuing  the  subject; 
his  wife  was  sewing  beside  a  dim  little  lamp  in 
the  kitchen. 

"I'm  a-settin'  up  to  give  Jed  a  piece  of  my 
mind  about  wastin'  so  much  of  his  time  over  to 
Bistles'." 

"Cat  out?"  mechanically  inquired  Pa,  then 
made  his  way  up  to  bed  in  the  dark. 

Patiently  Ma  Flickinger  bent  over  her  son's 
ragged,  soiled  coat ;  if  she  could  not  understand 
his  need  of  love  and  friendship,  she  understood  his 
physical  needs  as  only  a  devoted  mother  could. 

When  Jed  came  home  from  Bistles',  he  threw 
himself  on  the  floor  of  the  kitchen  porch  to  rest. 
"  'Pears  like  bed  'd  be  the  proper  place  for  you, 
Jeddie,"  said  his  mother,  kindly,  as  she  dragged 
her  chair  close  to  the  open  door  so  that  she  could 
talk  to  her  son. 

Jed  said  nothing;  probably  he  had  not  even 
heard  her  as  he  lay  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
arm,  thinking  of  the  contrariness  of  things  in 
148 


OPAL 

general.  In  his  steadfast  soul  there  burned  a 
hurt  that  was  like  a  dull  physical  pain;  for  he 
thought  that  he  had  unintentionally  offended 
Sefton  Woods.  Besides  this  he  supposed  himself 
to  be  in  love  with  Fern  Bistle,  who  flattered  him 
one  day  and  snubbed  him  the  next. 

"You  don't  want  to  marry  into  the  Bistle 
family,"  his  mother  finally  said  in  a  persuasive 
voice. 

Suddenly  Jed  was  all  attention.  "What's  the 
matter  with  the  Bistles?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothin's  the  matter  with  'em,"  she  replied; 
"but  they  ain't  the  family  I'd  like  to  marry  into ; 
they're  finicky  and  always  takin'  slights.  Fer- 
nie's  got  her  eyes  on  Seftie  Woods  now,  but  later, 
when  he  and  all  the  other  boys  gits  tired  of  her, 
then  she'll  take  up  with  you.  Depend  upon  it, 
Jed,  if  you  want  to  marry  Fern  Bistle  you  can," 
prophesied  his  mother,  gloomily. 

A  slow  smile  of  satisfaction  broke  over  Jed's 
strong,  plain  face ;  but  in  the  darkness  it  passed 
unseen  by  his  mother. 

"Some  folks  thinks  Fernie's  pretty,"  she 
went  on;  "but  it's  mostly  paint  and  fixin's; 
and  she's  two-faced  and  don't  care  for  nothin' 
but  style  and  beaus.  One  day  she'll  be  as  thick 
as  spatter  with  Opal,  and  the  next  she  can't 
149 


OPAL 

scarcely  see  her,  and  about  the  same  with 
you." 

"I  don't  think  that  way,"  Jed  spoke  emphati- 
cally. 

"'Cause  you  don't  want  to,"  returned  his 
mother,  plainly;  "and  you'd  rather  go  on  cher- 
ishin'  your  make-believe;  but  you're  not  the 
only  body  in  the  world,  Jed  Flickinger,  that 
likes  to  deceive  theirselves.  And  you're  a  kind 
of  softie  on  girls,  anyway,"  she  added  frankly. 
"Why,  you  even  like  your  sister  Opal,"  as  if  this 
were  a  grave  failing  on  Jed's  part. 

"I'm  through  with  her — durned  crazy  guy  of 
a  girl,"  cried  a  husky  voice  from  the  direction 
of  the  barn.  It  was  little  Butch  that  spoke,  and 
he  was  coming  from  Bistles'. 

"Shut  up,  Butch,"  ordered  Jed. 

"I  don't  haft  to  for  you,"  retorted  Butch, 
dropping  on  the  porch  steps  with  an  angry  thud. 
"Jest  wait  till  Fern  Bistle  has  treated  you  like 
she  has  me — you'll  holler,  too!" 

"You  boys  stop  a-goin'  at  each  other  like 
two  hoot-owls,"  commanded  Ma.  "What  '11  the 
neighbors  say?" 

"She's  played  me  a  durned  mean  trick,  she 
has,"  accused  Butch. 

"What's  Fern  done  now?"  demanded  Ma. 


OPAL 

"She's  said  things  that  I  won't  stand  for — 
she's  picked  on  me — and  she  ain't  kept  her 
word." 

"Fern's  sorry  for  Butch,"  explained  Jed. 
"She  says  nobody  understands  him.  But  she 
wa'n't  onto  Butch,  and  I  told  her  so.  And  now 
she's  probably  found  out  what  an  ornery  kid  he 
is  and  fired  him." 

"She's  fired  me  'cause  there  ain't  nothin'  else 
for  me  to  do,"  informed  Butch,  mysteriously. 
' '  She  knows  why  Sef tie  Woods  got  so  high-toned 
all  of  a  sudden." 

"Don't  lie  to  me,  Butch,"  warned  Jed,  in- 
dignantly. "You're  mad  at  Fern — that's  what 
ails  you." 

"Yes,  I  be;  I'm  mad  at  everybody — nobody 
treats  me  white." 

"Another  ungrateful  young  one,"  remarked 
Ma.  "Butch,  go  home.  You  know  your  Pa 
don't  want  you  on  the  street  after  dark." 

"I  don't  haft  to  do  everything  Pa  says," 
replied  Butch,  sullenly.  "Why,  Pa  ain't  give  me 
a  decent  word  since  I  dunno  when.  And  he 
thinks  I  ain't  good  enough  to  drive  his  old  meat 
wagon.  I  don't  care  much  for  this  old  town, 
anyway;  I'd  jest  as  lief  go  West." 

"But  the  town  'd  miss  you,  Butch,"  teased  Jed. 


OPAL 

"Shut  up,  Jed,  you  only  make  him  worse. 
Butch,  why  don't  you  try  to  behave  yourself? 
Then  folks  wouldn't  hate  to  have  you  'round  so." 

"I  always  thought  afore  that  my  gramma 
was  my  best  friend,"  Butch  spoke  reproachfully. 

1 ' She  is, ' '  snapped  Ma.  ' '  And  now  go  straight 
home  like  a  good  boy,  wash  your  hands  and  face 
and  go  to  bed."  And  her  disgruntled  grandson 
withdrew,  growling  that  he  would  get  even  with 
Fern  Bistle. 

"Here's  Fern  a-makin'  more  trouble,"  cried 
Ma;  "and  a-bein'  tied  onto  such  a  companion 
for  life  '11  make  you  wisht  you'd  been  born  a  deaf 
and  dumb  zany. 

"Spunkin'  won't  make  it  no  different,  Mr. 
Jed,  and  it  won't  hurt  you  none  to  hear  the  plain 
truth  onct  in  a  while  from  your  Ma,"  and  his 
mother  clattered  off  to  bed. 

Jed  had  nearly  fallen  asleep  in  spite  of  his 
restless  thoughts,  for  he  had  done  a  hard  day's 
work  in  the  field,  when  he  became  conscious  that 
some  one  was  in  the  garden.  "Opal,"  he  called 
softly,  "I  thought  you'd  gone  to  bed." 

"I  did  go,"  answered  his  sister,  as  she  came 
and  sat  on  the  steps  beside  him,  glad  for  once 
of  her  brother's  companionship;  "but  I  couldn't 
sleep." 

152 


OPAL 

"Opal,  I  want  to  say  something  to  you  about 
Ma,"  began  Jed,  with  clumsy  sympathy.  "You 
know  Ma,  she  will  talk — it's  her  way." 

Opal  sighed  involuntarily. 

"Ma's  been  rubbin'  it  in  about  Seftie,"  Jed 
went  on;  "but  don't  take  it  to  heart  so.  Up  at 
college  old  Professor  Warner  used  to  say  that  a 
constant  rubbin  'd  make  a  sore  or  a  callous.  And 
it's  up  to  you  to  be  so  indifferent  that  it's  jest  a 
callous.  It's  Ma's  way  to  nag  and  complain — 
she  kinder  enjoys  it.  But  I  ain't  blamin'  Ma, 
'cause  she  means  jest  right  by  us ;  but  she  can't 
understand  that  we've  grown  up." 

"I  do  try  not  to  mind,  Jed;  but  sometimes  I 
get  so  tired  of  it  all." 

"I  know;  but  don't  take  it  too  hard.  And 
ain't  you  any  idea,  Opal,  what  made  him — Seftie 
— act  that  way  to  you  ?" 

"No,  I've  thought  and  thought;  but  I  can't 
make  it  out." 

"Did  Seftie  say  anything  about  me — toward 
the  last — as  if  I  had  displeased  him?"  Jed  spoke 
as  if  his  old  friend  were  dead. 

"No,  Jed,  he  cared  everything  for  you.'1 

"Something's  wrong  between  us,  though," 
said  Jed.  "The  first  time  I  saw  him  after  the 
picnic,  he  spoke  to  me  kinder  cool  and  solemn- 


OPAL 

like,  and  I  thought  maybe  I'd  done  something 
to  him  unbeknown.  And  yet  it  ain't  a  bit  like 
Seftie  to  act  that  way,  either.  I  was  sure  he'd 
explain;  but,  someway,  he  looked  at  me  so  queer 
that  I  couldn't  ask  him.  We  never  quarrelled — 
but  of  course  this  ain't  a  quarrel,  it's  jest  a  mis- 
understandin'  somewhere." 

"Oh,  Jed — you've  seen  him,  then." 

"Once,  comin'  home  from  work;  he  said, 
'Good-evenin',  Jed,'  that  was  all." 

"Fernie  might — "  began  Opal. 

"No,  Fernie  says  she  don't  know  why  he  took 
her  up  to  the  picnic  instead  of  you;  but  Butch 
was  talkin'  to-night  as  if  Fern  knew  something 
about  it.  I'll  ask  her;  maybe  she's  heard  some- 
thing new." 

"Maybe  Seftie  thinks  we  Flickingers  are 
funny — funny  folks,  I  mean,"  faltered  Opal. 

"We  ain't  any  funnier  all  of  a  sudden,  I  guess, 
than  we  ever  was,"  said  Jed,  hotly. 

' '  Do  you  suppose  that  Willie  Briggs  might  have 
said  something  to  Seftie  ?  Something  must  have 
influenced  him." 

"Shucks,  no.  Willie's  'all  that  spells  noble 
manhood' — you  remember,  that's  what  he  said 
when  he  graduated.  No,  Willie  ain't  got  it  in 
him  to  make  trouble.  He's  a  smug  little  tyke, 


OPAL 

but  he's  really  a  good  boy,  jest  like  he  thinks 
he  is." 

"But  I  can't  make  it  seem  real,  Seftie's  not 
coming  to  see  me  any  more — he  seemed  to  like 
me,"  added  Opal,  lamely.  "And  I've  thought, 
too,  that  maybe  he  minded  Ma's  nagging  at  him 
all  the  time." 

"No,  it  'd  take  more  than  Ma  to  faze  Seftie." 

"Maybe  he  minded  it,  but  was  too  polite  to 
say  so,"  urged  Opal. 

"Don't  think  it." 

"Jed,  do  you  suppose  it  '11  ever  be  any  different 
— about  him  ?"  questioned  Opal,  timidly. 

"No,  it's  past."  Jed  spoke  with  serious 
deliberation. 

"And  Ma  thinks  I  ought  to  forget  him.  It 
doesn't  do  any  harm  to  remember — does  it,  Jed  ?" 

"Well,  maybe  it  don't,"  answered  her  brother, 
gently;  "but  it  don't  do  any  good  to  keep  him 
in  mind,  neither." 

"But  some  things  between  us  can't  be  now — 
as  if  they  had  never  been,"  confessed  Opal. 

"I  know — but  you  can  put  your  mind  off'n  it; 
for  I  can't  help  but  think  that  if  you  ever  did 
make  up  that  nothing  'd  ever  come  of  it.  Woods 
are  different  from  us — they're  educated  folks, 
and  are  well-to-do.  And  maybe,  Opal,  Seftie's 


OPAL 

father  and  mother  have  other  plans  for  him.  I 've 
thought  it  out  on  both  sides,  and  here's  the  right 
as  I  see  it — don't  set  your  heart  on  Seftie." 

"But,  Jed—" 

"He  jest  ain't  for  us.  That's  all,"  and  the 
final  note  in  Jed's  voice  made  his  sister  almost 
as  sorry  for  him  as  for  herself. 

"But  you  and  Seftie  can  be  friends  again." 

"No,  not  now.  He'd  have  to  explain  himself 
about  you  first;  and  he's  proud,  and  so  am  I. 
And  if  he  wants  to  draw  away  while  he's  got  time, 
what  can  he  say  in  explanation?" 

"Still,  Jed — "  Opal  tried  to  argue  with  him. 

"The  more  you  think  of  a  person,  the  less 
you  can  take  off'n  him,"  continued  Jed.  "But 
sometimes  when  I  see  him  working  away  on  the 
next  farm,  it  all  comes  over  me  how  it  used  to  be, 
and  I'd  swear  that  Seftie  was  missin'  me,  too." 

"Oh,  Jed,  if  you'd  only  go  and  talk  to  him." 

"No,  I  can't ;  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  sore  about 
it,  though." 

"And,  Jed,  Ma  talks  so  about  him,  I  can't  bear 
to  think  any  ill  of  him ;  I've  got  to  think  of  Seftie 
kindly — or  I  couldn't  stand  it." 

"I  feel  that  way,  too.  And  no  matter  how 
queer  he  acts  now,  I  don't  intend  to  forget  what 
I  owe  him.  And  maybe  his  part  in  my  life  was 
156 


OPAL 

just  to  show  me  how  to  make  something  of  my- 
self— all  the  part  he  was  to  have.  But  I'm  goin' 
to  be  happy  without  him;  and,  after  a  while, 
Opal,  so  can  you."  And  Jed  brought  his  great 
fist  down  on  the  boards  with  a  thud  that  made 
the  dish-pans,  hanging  beside  the  kitchen  door, 
rattle  loudly. 

"  What're  you  young  ones  a-doin'  on  my  porch 
at  this  time  of  night  ?"  called  their  mother,  sharp- 
ly, from  above. 

"Nothin',"  returned  the  deep  voice  of  Jed. 

"I  never — in  all  my  life — ast  a  young  one  what 
they  was  doin'  that  they  didn't  answer  back, 
'Nothin'.'  Now  spit  it  out." 

"Talkin'  and  restin',"  answered  Jed,  patiently. 

"On  a  hard  board,  I  guess  yes,"  Ma  spoke 
sarcastically.  "And  how  does  it  look  for  you 
and  Opal  to  be  settin'  alone  on  the  back  stoop  ? 
The  neighbors  won't  know  that  you're  Opal's 
brother;  they'll  think  you're  Sef  Woods  come 
sneakin'  back." 

Jed  said  nothing ;  and  Opal  silently  entered  the 
house. 

"Where's  Opal  that  she  can't  open  her  head?" 
asked  Ma,  shrilly. 

"Gone  up  to  bed." 

"Well,  it's  time;   but  I  don't  suppose  you're 


OPAL 

ever  goin'  to  bed,  the  way  you  act.  I've  a  good 
notion  to  tell  your  Pa!" 

"I'm  a-goin'  in  right  away,  Ma,"  answered  Jed, 
gently  for  him. 

Opal  was  comforted  by  her  brother's  sym- 
pathy, and  she  fell  asleep,  mourning  not  only 
for  her  own  past  dream,  but  for  Jed's  loss  of 
friendship  as  well. 

The  next  evening  when  Jed  came  home  from 
work,  he  found  Fern  hanging  over  the  alley 
fence,  waiting  for  him.  "Butch  says  you  know 
what's  the  matter  with  Seftie;  is  that  so,  Fern?" 
Jed  asked,  almost  idly,  for  he  did  not  believe 
much  in  what  Butch  had  said.  And  he  lin- 
gered willingly  with  her  while  the  rays  of ,  the 
setting  sun  slanted  softly  bright  into  the  alley. 

Fern  looked  quickly  at  Jed,  then  she  spoke 
nervously,  "Why,  there  ain't  much  the  matter 
with  him;  but  Seftie  don't  come  to  your  house 
any  more  'cause  he's  too  high-toned.  He  didn't 
say  jest  that,  but  that's  what  he  meant." 

"When  did  he  tell  you?" 

"Why — lemme  see — it  was  after  he  stopped 
goin'  with  Opal.  You  ought  to  hear  him  make 
fun  of  you  and  your  folks.  He  says  you're 
plumb  woodsy.  And  he  laughs  at  Opal  for  tryin' 
to  be  so  stuck  up  in  her  grammar.  And  he  says 
158 


OPAL 

Opal's  crazy  to  marry  him.  I  ain't  goin'  with 
Seftie  no  more;  if  he'll  talk  that  way  about 
one  girl  he  will  about  another,"  declared  Fern, 
virtuously.  "I'd  ruther  go  with  you,  Jed,"  she 
added  sweetly,  "than  any  other  kid  I  know." 

The  light  of  the  setting  sun  shone  plainly  on 
Fernie's  fair  little  face,  showing  her  insignificant 
features  to  cruel  advantage;  and  it  came  like  a 
shock  to  Jed's  honest  soul  that  several  patches  of 
carelessly  applied  powder  were  plainly  visible, 
and  the  dull-hued  rat  under  her  golden  hair  was 
in  disagreeable  evidence.  Her  white  waist  was 
crumpled  and  soiled,  her  light-blue  cashmere 
skirt  was  spotted  and  dingy.  Jed  hated  himself 
for  suddenly  noticing  all  these  distressing  details. 

He  turned  away  and  looked  so  long  down  the 
road  which  led  to  Sefton  Woods'  farm,  as  it 
faded  softly  into  the  shadows  of  the  warm  sum- 
mer evening,  that  Fernie  began  to  fidget  and  to 
stuff  her  cheap,  lace-trimmed  handkerchief  into 
a  hole  in  the  alley  fence. 

Finally  Jed  said  in  a  forced,  dry  voice,  "This 
is  the  last  of  our  goin'  together,  Fern ;  so  good- 
bye— you  know  why,"  and  he  started  for  home. 

"Oh,  Jed,"  cried  the  girl,  dashing  through  the 
back  gate  and  running  after  him,  "what's  the 
matter — are  you  mad?" 


OPAL 

"No,  I  ain't  mad.  Leave  go  my  arm.  I'm 
goin'  in." 

"I  won't  never  flirt  ag'in,  Jed,  if  you'll  only 
take  me  back  this  time.  Promise  me  you'll  take 
me  back." 

"I'd  ruther  not  promise;  I  don't  feel  like  it 
now."  And  Jed  wondered  how  he  had  ever 
thought  her  pretty. 

"But  you'll  want  to  make  up  later,"  insisted 
Fern,  triumphantly.  •  "I  know  you  will.  You'll 
remember  the  good  times  we've  had  together. 
Please,  please,  Jed,  take  me  back  now." 

"I  can't,"  answered  Jed,  grimly,  though  just 
then,  because  she  urged  him,  he  longed  to  do  it. 

"Jed  Flickinger,  what  're  you  a-doin'  in  that 
alley?"  called  his  mother  in  piercing  tones  from 
the  back  door. 

"Nothin',"  answered  Jed,  truthfully. 

"Ain't  you  got  no  regard  for  your  supper, 
stayin'  away  like  this?  Who's  hangin'  onto 
you?" 

Breaking  from  Fern's  detaining  arms,  Jed 
left  her  and  went  to  the  house. 

"Fern,  as  usual,"  scolded  his  mother.  "Set 
down  and  eat;  I've  kept  things  warm  for  you. 
Jed,  that  flossy-head  means  to  marry  you. 
Watch  out." 

160 


OPAL 

"I'll  never  marry  Fern ;  if  that's  what's 
worryin'  you,"  said  Jed.  "And  I  don't  want 
any  supper." 

"No  supper!"  screamed  Ma  Flickinger. 
"You've  been  a-quarrellin'  with  Fern  Bistle 
ag'in,  and  it's  turned  you  ag'in  honest  victuals." 

"Where's  Opal?" 

"She's  supposed  to  be  huntin'  aigs  for  break- 
fast." 

Jed  found  his  sister  in  the  barn,  picking  burrs 
from  the  old  horse's  mane.  She  had  forgotten 
all  about  the  eggs. 

"What's  happened  to  you,  Jed?"  asked  Opal, 
as  the  light  of  the  lantern,  which  she  had  hung 
near  the  door,  fell  on  Jed's  troubled  face. 

"Nothin',"  answered  Jed,  dismally;  then  he 
added:  "Yes,  there  has,  too,  Opal.  I've  jest 
found  out  Fern — I'm  through  with  her." 

"Oh,  Jed!  Oh,  my  poor  brother!"  And 
Opal  suddenly  began  to  cry. 

"Why,  Opal!"  exclaimed  Jed,  surprised  that 
any  one  should  be  sorry  for  him,  "don't  feel  so 
bad  for  me!"  And,  for  probably  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  Jed  put  his  arms  sympathetically 
around  his  little  sister  and  comforted  her.  And 
some  of  the  raw  hurt  of  Fernie's  falseness  melted 
away  as  he  talked  to  Opal. 
161 


OPAL 

"She  said  things  that  ain't  true  about  Seftie. 
Trust  him,  Opal,  trust  him.  I  don't  mean  for 
you  to  try  to  make  up  with  him  ag'in — that's  his 
business;  but  I  do  mean  that  he's  honest  and 
square  and  worthy  of  all  the  feelin'  you  ever 
give  him.  And  the  more  Fern  said,  the  more 
something  rose  up  in  me  and  stood  up  for  him ; 
he's  all  right!" 

"But  it's  so  hard  for  you,  Jed — you  can't 
even  respect  Fern;  you  haven't  got  anything 
left." 

"I  know,"  sighed  Jed.  "And  I'd  ruther  care 
for  her  forever  and  have  her  worthy  of  it  though 
she  never  looked  at  me,  than  to  have  her  like  she 
is.  Ma's  right,  I  wasn't  carin'  for  nothin'  but 
my  own  make-believe.  But  she  lied  about  him. 
Whatever  stopped  Seftie  comin'  here,  I  don't 
know,  and  maybe  it  '11  never  be  explained ;  but 
I  do  know  this — he's  doin'  what  he  thinks  is 
right!" 

A  new,  strange  joy  stirred  in  Opal's  heart. 
And  she  forgot  the  bitterness  of  the  last  dreary 
days,  and  caught  glimpses  of  a  new  and  gravely 
beautiful  world  of  devotion,  in  which,  though 
Sefton  Woods  was  free  to  go  his  own  way,  she 
could  still  care  for  him — for  he  was  worthy. 

"Eyes  a-shinin'  and  cheeks  on  fire — what's 
162 


OPAL 

got  into  you,  Opal?"  criticised  her  mother, 
sharply,  as  Opal  and  Jed  came  in  from  the  barn. 
"Are  you  comin'  down  with  measles  or  some- 
thin'  catchin'?" 

"Mebbe  Opal's  saw  her  feller  ag'in,"  said  her 
father,  slyly. 

"No — not  yet,"  replied  Opal,  curiously  grate- 
ful to  her  father,  who,  in  his  clumsy  way,  was 
trying  to  cheer  her. 

"No  aigs,  of  course,"  Ma  spoke  pessimistically. 

"I'll  get  them  to-morrow,"  promised  Opal. 

Jed  went  into  the  unlighted  parlor  and  closed 
the  door. 

"What  're  you  a-crackin'  matches  in  there 
for,  Jed?"  complained  his  mother. 

"Nothin',"  answered  Jed,  absently,  and,  open- 
ing the  blue  plush  album  on  the  centre  table, 
he  hastily  turned  the  leaves  till  he  came  to  a 
handsome,  familiar  face,  which,  illuminated  by 
the  brief  glare  of  a  second  match,  seemed  to  come 
out  of  the  gloom  and  smile  at  Jed — a  strong, 
comely  young  face,  with  truth  and  generosity 
written  in  all  its  lines. 

Jed  closed  the  book  quickly;    but  the  image 
of  Jed's  Jonathan  was  still  before  him ;  and  the 
last  flicker  of  the  match  showed  a  smile  of  faith- 
fulness on  his  own  plain  features. 
163 


VII 

BUTCH    AND    THE    WANDERLUST 


"^T^HIS  here  story,  'The  Cowboy  Baron,' 
reminds  me  over  and  over  ag'in  of  my 

*  little  Butchie,"  Mandy  Fanner  told  her 
sister  Opal,  who  was  sewing  at  Mandy's  home. 
Mandy  was  fat,  and  made  her  size  an  excuse  for 
not  doing  more  work.  Her  husband,  William 
Fanner,  commonly  called  Butch,  because  he 
owned  a  meat  market,  considered  Mandy  a  fine- 
looking  woman,  and  loyalty  to  his  easy-going 
wife  made  him  blind  to  anything  ludicrous  about 
her  enormous  formless  bulk,  her  slipshod,  puffing 
speech,  or  her  slovenly  ways. 

"Listen,"  continued  Mandy;  "it  says,  'Harold 
Montieth  was  sensitive'  —  that's  our  Butchie's 
trouble  —  'he  was  a  youth  of  high  moral  parts,  and 
as  delicately  strung  as  an  instrument  of  music. 
He  could  not  lie'  —  jest  so  our  Butch.  'And  his 
proud  spirit  refused  to  be  domineered  over  by 
the  gruff  old  Baron  Montieth.  So  Harold  left 
164 


OPAL 

his  princely  home  for  the  wild,  free  West.' 
That's  Butchie  and  his  Pa  to  a  T.  For  Butch 
keeps  a-threatenin'  to  leave  home,  and  his  Pa 
jaws  him  night  and  day." 

' '  Butch  is  old  enough  to  mind  without  so  much 
scolding,"  said  Opal,  as  she  basted  the  long  seams 
of  her  sister's  new  wrapper  with  deft  fingers. 
Mandy  had  never  learned  to  sew,  and  now  sat  in 
a  large  cushioned  rocker  in  her  littered  sitting- 
room  in  their  dingy  little  home  on  Loretta 
Avenue,  reading  "The  Cowboy  Baron." 

"Butchie  does  mind  me,  but  William  seems 
possessed  to  pick  on  the  boy;  and  he  oughter 
know  that  if  Little  Butch  is  as  big  as  a  man  that 
he  ain't  got  the  judgment  of  a  man  yit,"  com- 
plained his  mother. 

At  supper-time  Little  Butch  came  noisily  into 
the  house,  followed  by  his  father,  Big  Butch 
Panner. 

"Son,  here's  company,"  reminded  Panner, 
for  the  boy  had  not  spoken  to  Opal. 

"Opal,  she  ain't  company,"  grunted  Butch. 

"But  she's  your  little  aunt;  and  it  'd  look 
better  if  you'd  say  'how-dy'  or  somethin'  along 
that  line,"  he  added,  vaguely. 

"Butch  has  seen  me  once  before  to-day,"  Opal 
hastened  to  explain. 

165 


OPAL 

"Still,  manners  is  manners,"  maintained 
Fanner,  firmly.  "And,  son,  you  cut  twict  as 
much  meat  for  Koontzes  and  only  half  as  much 
for  Applewhites  as  they  sent  for." 

"I  didn't,  neither,"  denied  Butch.  "The 
orders  read  that  way,"  he  hastily  added,  as  he 
saw  the  black  look  on  his  father's  face.  ' '  I  don't 
like  to  cut  meat,  nohow;  lemme  drive  the  meat 
wagon  ag'in." 

"And  I  don't  see  why  you  don't,  William," 
broke  in  his  mother,  coming  in  from  the  kitchen ; 
"he's  crazy  to  do  it." 

"If  he'd  drive  the  meat  wagon  as  he  oughter, 
I'd  be  glad  to  have  him,"  stated  Fanner,  plainly. 

"How  can  Butchie  do  his  best  when  you're 
continually  pickin'  on  him?"  asked  Mandy, 
warmly.  "It  makes  him  nervous.  And  Old 
Jane's  safe." 

"Yes,  the  horse  is  safe,  but  Butch  ain't  a  safe 
driver.  He'll  lam  Old  Jane  like  fury  if  he's  out'n 
my  sight." 

"You  make  her  hustle  yourself,  William," 
reminded  Mandy. 

"But  I  never  lam  her,  I  only  touch  her  up 
occasionally,"  differentiated  Fanner. 

"But  she's  such  a  tough-hided  old  beast  that 
I'll  betche  Butch  don't  hurt  her  none." 
166 


OPAL 

"Mebbe  he  don't  hurt  her  hide,"  allowed 
Fanner;  "but  it  hurts  her  feelin's  to  be  driv 
without  sense.  She's  a  faithful  old  beast,  and  I 
won't  have  her  whacked  careless  by  nobody. 
But  what  interests  Butch  most  is  to  git  all  the 
speed  out'n  the  old  horse  that  he  can — nothin' 
in  his  wagon's  interestin'  him.  If  the  meat  all 
gits  delivered,  it's  jest  a  happen  so ;  but  generally 
afore  he's  back  folks  begin  to  telephone  in  that 
they've  got  the  wrong  package." 

"All  boys  is  more  or  less  careless,"  defended 
Butch's  mother. 

"Folks  kick,  anyway,"  grumbled  Butch,  un- 
moved by  the  recital  of  his  shortcomings. 

"Not  if  they  git  good  service,"  stated  his 
father,  briefly.  "Why,  only  this  mornin'  Old 
Mis'  Kettlehout  got  ham  instead  of  liverwurst, 
and  you  put  it  up." 

"She  ordered  ham,"  asserted  Butch,  sullenly. 
"If  I  say  I'll  give  'em  ham,  I  give  'em  ham." 

"That's  it,  Butchie  won't  lie;  he's  always 
a-stickin'  to  his  word,"  put  in  Mandy,  hastily. 
"I  wouldn't  want  to  sell  meat  to  foreigners,  any- 
way; they're  always  gettin'  things  mixed  up." 

"Yes,  you  would,  too,"  contradicted  Fanner. 
"They're  good  customers.  And  whenever  Old 
Mis'  Kettlehout  sends  in  for  somethin',  she  likes 
167 


OPAL 

to  git  what  she's  ordered.  But  she  can't  talk 
plain  or  see  straight,  and  whenever  Butch's  got 
meat  that  he  can't  remember  where  it  belongs, 
he  jest  shoves  it  off  onto  Mis'  Kettlehout,  'cause 
she's  Dutch.  And  there's  other  things  that  he 
don't  do  right,  neither." 

"But  if  the  least  thing  goes  wrong,  Old  Mis' 
Kettlehout  she'll  sputter  and  call  Butchie  names 
in  Dutch.  I'd  ruther  she  got  her  meat  some- 
where else,  if  you  ast  me,"  concluded  Mandy, 
loftily. 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  denied  Fanner.  "Her 
money's  jest  as  good  as  anybody  else's." 

"And  it  don't  matter  who  does  a  thing  at  the 
shop,  it  gits  laid  onto  me,"  growled  Butch. 

"That's  right,"  agreed  Mandy.  "Everybody 
picks  on  you.  And  your  Pa's  too  ha'sh." 

"And  I  know  what  I  can  do — I  can  go  West," 
threatened  Butch. 

"You  don't  want  to  go  West,"  said  his  father, 
persuasively.  "Remember,  Butchie,  how  I  went 
away  up  to  Klondike  and  pretty  nigh  died ;  but 
I  always  says,"  he  continued,  softening  per- 
ceptibly toward  his  irresponsive  son,  at  the 
thought  of  those  grim  days,  "'there's  my  wife 
and  the  little  feller  waitin'  for  me  at  home,'  that 
kept  me  from  droppin'  by  the  wayside.  You 
168 


OPAL 

don't  want  to  go  an'  rough  it,  Butchie.  Stay 
at  home  and  learn  to  do  things  right.  Then 
after  a  bit  it  '11  be  Tanner  and  Son' — think  of 
that!" 

Mandy  was  melted  to  tears  by  her  husband's 
earnest  words,  but  Little  Butch  was  as  unmoved 
as  one  of  his  father's  beeves  in  cold  storage 
would  have  been. 

"Think,  Butchie,  what  your  poor  father  un- 
derwent for  you,"  urged  his  mother,  tearfully. 

"Mandy,  don't  I  git  no  supper?"  demanded 
her  son,  peremptorily. 

' '  Sure,  whatever  possessed  me  to  stand  gabblin' 
like  this?"  she  asked  with  sudden  compunction. 
"Supper  '11  be  ready  in  a  minute,  dear." 

"Mandy,  why  do  you  let  that  young  one  call 
you  by  your  first  name?"  questioned  her  hus- 
band. 

"'Cause  I  can't  help  it,"  acknowledged  the 
boy's  mother.  "When  you  was  up  to  Klondike 
he  never  heard  nobody  call  me  nothin'  but 
Mandy,  and  it  comes  natural." 

Panner  sighed. 

"He  doesn't  always  call  you  Mandy,"  said 
Opal. 

"He  calls  me  Ma  occasionally  when  he  thinks 
of  it,"  remembered  Mandy. 
169 


OPAL 

"Nothin'  decent  to  eat!"  shouted  Little 
Butch,  rudely,  as  they  sat  down  to  the  supper- 
table  in  the  smoky  kitchen. 

"A  good  supper,  son,"  corrected  his  father, 
shortly. 

"Aw,  git  out,"  dissented  Butch. 

"Wait  till  you've  et  it,"  Fanner  tried  to  speak 
good-naturedly. 

"Huh!"  snorted  Butch. 

"If  your  Ma  cooked  it,  I'll  bet  it's  good,"  per- 
sisted Fanner. 

"This  here  meat  is  as  tough  as  luther,"  criti- 
cised Butch. 

"Don't  eat  it  then,"  said  his  father,  his  pa- 
tience nearly  exhausted. 

"Are  you  going  to  play  ball,  Butch,  to-morrow 
afternoon?"  asked  Opal,  to  change  the  con- 
versation. 

"I  don't  haft  to  tell  you  everything  I  do," 
replied  Butch,  ungraciously. 

"Boy,  wot's  got  into  you?"  demanded  his 
father,  sharply. 

"I  dunno  yit  whether  I'll  play  or  not,"  said 
Butch  with  tardy  civility;  "mebbe  I  be  and 
mebbe  I  ain't.  Mebbe  I  won't  be  here  to  go 
nowheres,"  he  threatened. 

"Butchie  dear,  it  jest  makes  me  shiver  to  hear 
170 


OPAL 

you  talk  that  way,"  complained  Mandy.  "Ain't 
I  told  you  a  million  times  that  you  mustn't  ever 
go  anywheres  without  first  askin'  your  Ma?" 

"Darn  these  taters,"  grumbled  Butch,  "cold 
as  ice." 

"We  could  eat  our  taters  cold  in  Klondike — 
if  we  could  only  git  the  taters,"  said  Fanner. 

"Aw,  Klondike!  It  makes  me  sick  to  hear 
the  word!  Pa  can't  open  his  head  but  it's  Klon- 
dike this — and  Klondike  that.  Gimme  some 
more  meat." 

At  this  colossal  effrontery  of  his  son,  William 
Fanner  had  suddenly  no  appetite  for  his  meal. 

Opal  ate  in  pained  silence,  while  Mandy  seemed 
to  relish  her  supper  as  much  as  if  the  conversation 
had  been  amicable,  though  she  wiped  her  eyes 
from  time  to  time. 

"Ain't  there  any  peach  preserves,  Mandy?  I 
can't  eat  this  here  old  cake  without  sauce," 
grumbled  Butch. 

"We  didn't  git  much  cake — up  there,"  said 
Fanner  lamely,  as  if  trying  to  propitiate  his 
son. 

"My  peach  preserves  is  all  put  away  down 
cellar  for  the  winter.  Mamma  can't  git  you  any 
now,"  said  Mandy. 

"You  can,  too,  git  me  some,"  contradicted 
171 


OPAL 

Butch.  "You  mosey  right  down.  There  ain't 
nothin'  here  fit  to  eat." 

"I  hate  to  open  a  can,"  protested  Mandy, 
weakly;  but  was  rising  to  get  the  peaches, 
when  William  Fanner  brought  his  fist  down  on 
the  table  with  a  mighty  bang. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  this  thing  is?"  he 
demanded,  hoarsely.  "Ain't  my  own  little  lad 
nothin'  but  a  pig?  Did  I  crawl  home  from 
Klondike  to  feed  a  pig  that  can't  think  of  nothin' 
but  what  goes  into  his  mouth  ?" 

"Oh,  don't,  don't  be  ha'sh  with  Little  Butchie, 
William,"  pleaded  Mandy,  and  then  began  to  sob 
with  the  easy  lamentation  of  an  emotional,  lazy 
woman. 

"But  look  how  the  blame  fool  acts,"  accused 
his  father,  "drivin'  his  own  mother  about  like 
she  was  a  slave.  And  can't  say  a  decent  word 
even  when  company's  here.  He  ain't  got  no 
more  notion  of  what  I  suffered  to  git  back  to  him 
than  as  if  he  was  a  speckled  pig." 

"But  he  was  such  a  little,  little  boy  when  you 
went  away  to  Klondike  that  he  can't  take  it  all 
in,"  argued  Mandy. 

"He  can't  take  nothin'  in  but  victuals," 
asserted  her  husband,  violently. 

Nobody  said  anything  after  this  outburst 
172 


OPAL 

till  Little  Butch  inquired  in  a  subdued,  though 
insistent  voice,  "Mandy,  don't  I  git  no  peach 
preserves?" 

As  Mandy  started  from  her  seat,  her  husband 
thundered:  "Set  down!" 

The  supper  was  finished  in  heavy  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks, 
and  the  occasional  sniffs  of  Mandy. 

' '  Don't  f orgit  to  feed  the  horse, ' '  Fanner  shortly 
reminded  his  son,  as  Butch  arose  from  the  table. 

"I  always  feed  her,"  returned  Butch,  aggres- 
sively. "And  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Mandy, 
that  if  I  can't  have  enough  to  eat,  and  can't  be 
treated  white,  I'll  leave  home.  And  don't  you 
f  orgit  it." 

' '  Naught  but  a  pig — jest  a  common,  every-day 
pig,"  muttered  the  boy's  father  as  Butch  left  the 
room. 

"But  you're  so  ha'sh  with  him,  William," 
accused  his  wife.  "You  know  how  sensitive 
Little  Butchie  is;  he's  high-strung  and  nervous, 
jest  like  I  be." 

"Lots  of  boys  get  bossy  when  they're  about 
Butch's  age,"  Opal  tried  to  console  Fanner. 
"Jed  and  Billie  used  to  get  queer  streaks  too." 

"But  this  ain't  a  streak,  Opal,  it's  solid  meat," 
complained  Fanner;  "all  there  is  to  him." 
12  J73 


OPAL 

"You  don't  understand  Butchie,"  protested 
Mandy.  ' '  He  likes  to  eat  jest  like  any  other  boy 
does;  but  he's  got  his  good  p'ints.  He  won't 
lie — for  one  thing." 

"Which  shows  how  much  you  know  about 
Butch,"  scoffed  his  father. 

"Never,"  declared  Mandy,  emphatically,  "has 
that  there  boy  yit  told  me  one." 

"But  if  lyin'  was  all  that  he  done  wrong,  I 
could  take  that  out'n  him  with  a  stick,"  said 
Fanner,  dismally;  "but  he's  so  tarnal  indifferent 
as  to  whether  the  rest  of  the  family  lives  or  dies. 
He  takes  after  your  brother  Bill.  Butch  ain't  a 
Fanner,"  added  the  boy's  father,  bitterly,  "he's 
a  Flickinger  all  right,  all  right !" 

"You  can't  conquer  Butchie  by  pickin'  on  him, 
whether  he's  a  Fanner  or  a  Flickinger,"  said 
Mandy,  heatedly. 

"You'll  never  conquer  him  by  fetchin'  and 
carryin'  like  he  was  a  crowned  king  neither," 
said  his  father. 

' '  Do  you  want  a  pocket  in  your  dress,  Mandy  ?" 
asked  Opal,  to  create  a  diversion. 

"No  need  of  a  pocket ;  when  I  do  have  one  my 
handkercher  never  gits  into  it,"  returned  Mandy, 
plaintively,  as  if  it  were  the  fault  of  the  hand- 
kerchief. 

i74 


OPAL 

"You'll  be  sewin'  weddin'  things  for  yourself, 
soon,  won't  you,  Opal  ?"  asked  Fanner  with  heavy 
facetiousness ;  for  the  conduct  of  his  son  lay  like 
lead  on  his  spirit. 

"I  guess  not,"  answered  Opal,  the  long  seam 
she  was  sewing  suddenly  blurring  into  a  dim, 
crooked  line. 

"Seftie  Woods  has  give  Opal  the  go-by,"  ex- 
plained Mandy;  "I  don't  know  whatever  pos- 
sessed him." 

"Give  Opal  the  go-by?"  echoed  Fanner;  "no, 
don't  say  that." 

"I  haven't  seen  him  lately,"  admitted  Opal, 
who  felt  that  her  brother-in-law  would  expect 
some  explanation. 

"But  it's  broke  off,"  spoke  up  Mandy,  quickly. 
' '  Ma  said  so.  Opal  never  went  to  Berrien  Springs 
with  Seftie  at  all." 

"Well,  if  that  wouldn't  floor  you!"  exclaimed 
Fanner,  indignantly.  ' '  Why,  from  what  folks  let 
fall,  I  supposed  Opal  was  as  good  as  spoke  for." 

"And  so  did  everybody  else,"  affirmed  Mandy; 
"  Jule  said  she  was  there  one  Sunday  when  Seftie 
was  down,  and  that  he  looked  at  Opal  fit  to  kill ; 
he  jest  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off 'n  her.  It  ain't 
a  case  of  his  not  likin'  Opal ;  but  Jule  thinks  our 
family  ain't  swell  enough  for  him." 


OPAL 

From  this  frank  exposition,  of  the  situation, 
Opal  shrank  with  a  pain  that  seemed  to  her 
altogether  out  of  proportion  to  the  cause  that 
inflicted  it. 

"I  can't  make  it  seem  right,"  scowled  Fanner. 
"I  always  kinder  liked  the  lad;  mebbe  it'll  be 
straightened  out  yit,"  he  added. 

"I  guess  not,"  answered  Opal,  remembering 
with  an  added  pang  Jed's  words:  "Seftie  ain't 
for  us." 

"Tears  like  nothin'  goes  right  any  more," 
said  Fanner  dismally.  "Well,  I  dunno  what 
we're  all  a-livin*  for,  anyway,  nothin'  but  trouble, 
trouble — and  then  some  more." 

Opal  went  home  depressed  by  her  unhappy 
day  at  Mandy's,  and  the  next  morning  things 
seemed  drearier  than  ever  to  her;  for  it  was 
raining,  and  their  kitchen  was  thick  with  smoke 
and  dank  smells. 

"Breakfast  is  always  a  disagreeable  meal,  and 
I  like  to  git  it  et,"  said  Ma  Flickinger,  as  the 
family  sat  down  to  the  table.  "Jed  and  Pa  are 
always  so  shut-mouthed  in  the  morning,  and — 
Land !  what's  that  tramplin'  on  our  side  stoop  ? 
It  does  seem  to  me  that  Little  Butch  might  stay 
at  home  till  after  breakfast!" 

But  it  was  not  Little  Butch  that  burst  wild- 
176 


OPAL 

eyed  and  incoherent  into  the  smoky  kitchen, 
it  was  his  father,  William  Fanner,  and  he  shouted, 
"Butchie's  gone.  He  ain't  here,  is  he  ?  They'll 
have  to  drag  the  canal!" 

A  babel  of  inquiries  elicited  nothing  more 
definite  from  Fanner  than  that  Little  Butch 
was  not  at  home. 

"Butch  can't  be  drowned,"  cried  Opal,  with  a 
shudder. 

"How  do  you  know  he's  drowned  ?"  demanded 
Jed,  incredulously. 

"Everybody  keep  still  till  I  git  to  the  bottom 
of  this  rumpus.  Jed  and  Opal,  shut  yourselves 
right  up,"  commanded  Ma.  "William,  calm 
yourself.  You  act  like  a  wild  Indian.  Now 
what's  happened  to  the  boy?  Spit  it  out!" 

"He's  gone!  We  don't  know  where!  We 
don't  know  when!"  Fanner  informed  them, 
dramatically. 

"Do  you  know  why?"  questioned  Ma,  like  a 
cold-hearted  officer  of  the  law. 

"That's  what's  worryin'  me,  Mrs.  Flickinger," 
groaned  Fanner,  so  nervous  that  he  addressed 
his  mother-in-law  as  a  stranger.  "I'm  tumble 
fearful  that  I  druv  my  little  boy  to  his  death." 

"Aw,    shucks,     Fanner,"    remonstrated    Pa 
Flickinger,  unmoved;   "Butch '11  turn  up." 
177 


OPAL 

"But  his  bed  wa'n't  slept  in  last  night.  And  I 
was  ha'sh  with  my  little  lad.  Ask  Opal,  here. 
I  always  jawed  him.  Mandy '11  tell  you  that." 

"Little  Butch's  been  threatenin'  he'd  leave 
home,"  informed  Jed;  "I  ain't  surprised  a  bit." 

"I  know  he  threatened  to  go,  but  I'm  af eared 
I  driv  him  to  somethin'  else!" 

"He's  probably  taken  the  interurban  and  gone 
up  country  where  they  need  thrashers,"  said  Jed, 
practically. 

"If  I  could  only  believe  that,"  cried  Fanner; 
"but  I'm  scared  of  that  dumed  canal." 

"Why,  lookie  here,  Fanner,  a  young  lad  that 
hates  water  like  Butchie  does  wouldn't  throw 
hisself  into  no  canal,"  argued  Pa,  to  hearten 
Fanner.  "Butch  can't  be  driv  to  wash  his 
hands  and  face  scurcely,  without  a  general 
hullabaloo." 

"That's  right,"  admitted  Fanner.  "Oh,  meb- 
be  he's  on  top." 

"Of  course  he's  on  top,  William,"  said  Ma, 
emphatically,  "I've  a  leadin'  he  is.  Had  your 
breakfast  yit?"  she  concluded,  hospitably. 

"No,  I  can,' teat." 

"Yes,  you  can,  too,  eat,  William.  Set  down. 
No  wonder  you're  pretty  nigh  dead  with  worry — 
no  breakfast!  Here's  tatoes,  here's  ham,  spoon 
178 


OPAL 

yourself  up  some  meat  grease.  Opal,  fetch  a  cup 
of  hot  coffee." 

"You  don't  need  to  git  a  clean  cup  jest  for 
me,  Opal;  anybody  else's  '11  do,  that's  done 
with  it,"  said  Fanner,  mournfully  polite. 

"You'll  feel  like  a  different  man  when  Ma  gits 
through  with  you,"  prophesied  Pa,  heartily,  as 
his  son-in-law  reluctantly  began  to  eat. 

"I'll  hurry  over  to  Gowdy's  store  and  tele- 
phone to  the  interurban  station  and  see  if  Butch's 
been  seen  there,"  promised  Jed  as  he  hurried  out. 

"Sample  the  fried  tatoes  ag'in,  William," 
urged  Ma.  "You've  gotta  keep  your  strength 
up.  How's  Mandy?" 

"I  left  poor  Mandy  squallin'  like  tunket.  I 
dunno  whatever  I  was  born  for!  I'm  a  complete 
failure!"  mourned  Fanner.  "I've  druv  off  my 
only  son!" 

"Shucks,  William,  you  can't  lose  Butch.  I 
ain't  a-worryin'  none,"  encouraged  Ma,  though 
she  was  constantly  running  into  the  pantry  to 
wipe  her  eyes.  "Here,  William,  here's  a  quarter 
of  a  mince-pie,  that  '11  put  heart  into  you!" 

Before   Fanner  had   finished   eating,    Mandy 

burst   sobbing  and   panting  into   the   kitchen. 

She  had  found  a  note  which  Little  Butch  had 

left  in  the  sprinkling  can  on  the  back  porch.     It 

179 


OPAL 

was  in  this  secure  place  that  they  always  kept 
the  door-key  when  away  from  home. 

Ma  pounced  upon  the  note,  but  threw  it  to 
Opal,  who  read : 

I'm  gone  for  good.  This  is  the  last  word  you  will 
ever  hear  from  me.  Pa  can't  pick  on  me  no  more. 
Jed  can  have  my  fishing-pole.  I  don't  care  who  has 
my  skates. 

BUTCH  FANNER. 

"Butch  has  jest  got  miffed  and  run  away. 
I'll  betche,  Mandy,  that  he'll  be  home  for  sup- 
per," comforted  Pa.  "I  did  the  same  in  my 
time.  Nothin'  to  bawl  about." 

"No,  he  won't  come  back,  'cause  he  says  he 
ain't;  and  Butchie  won't  lie.  We'll  never  see 
our  little  boy's  face  ag'in,"  sobbed  Mandy. 
' '  Oh,  William  Fanner,  how  can  you  set  there  and 
eat  when  the  only  little  baby  we  ever  had  is 
lost?" 

Fanner  had  begun  to  wipe  his  eyes  and  groan, 
when  Ma  Flickinger  spoke  sternly:  "Mandy 
Fanner,  how  you  talk!  The  idee  that  William 
oughter  starve  jest  'cause  Butchie's  took  it  into 
his  fool  head  to  go  to  foreign  parts  for  a  few  days. 
Had  your  breakfast,  Mandy?" 

"  No,  I  couldn't  eat  a  thing,"  refused  Mandy, 
indignantly. 

1 80 


OPAL 

Ma  peremptorily  took  off  Mandy's  sunbonnet 
and  forced  her  fat  daughter  into  a  seat  at  the 
table.  ' '  Bear  up  for  William's  sake.  Here's  Will- 
iam nigh  out'n  his  head  about  Butchie  now!" 

"That's  so,"  sniffed  mercurial  Mandy.  ' ' Poor 
William  nearly  died  in  Klondike,  and  then  had  to 
tromp  'way  home — and  then  to  have  Butchie  act 
like  this!" 

"Mandy,  here's  meat,  here's  tatoes,  and  here's 
ham  grease.  You  gotta  keep  goin'.  Fanner's 
et  all  the  pie.  Opal,  fetch  up  a  can  of  Seftie 
Woods's  strawberries ;  Mandy  needs  a  ralish." 

"Butch  ain't  in  the  canal,"  informed  Jed, 
when  he  came  from  the  store.  "Noey  Carter 
saw  Butch  take  the  interurban  last  night  with 
some  other  fellers  that  were  goin'  up  country  to 
thrash." 

Fanner  visibly  brightened,  and  Mandy  must 
have  felt  relieved,  for,  though  at  first  she 
nibbled  languidly  at  the  food,  she  was  soon 
heartily  assisting  herself  with  a  knife,  and  she 
lingered  long  over  the  strawberries. 

"It's  the  burries  that  give  me  a  ralish," 
apologized  Mandy. 

"Butch's  jest  got  a  touch  of  the  wanderlust," 
observed  Jed. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Mandy,  alarmed. 
181 


OPAL 

"Mebbe  he  caught  it  from  them  foreigners.  I 
always  said  I  didn't  want  to  sell  meat  to 
foreigners." 

"Shucks,  Mandy,  it  ain't  a  disease,"  grinned 
Jed. 

"Mebbe  it  ain't,  but  it  sounds  like  it,"  con- 
tributed Ma. 

"It's  a  longing  to  travel  and  see  things,"  ex- 
plained Opal. 

"I  guess  I  was  a  bad  case  of  it  when  I  went  off 
to  Klondike,"  acknowledged  Panner. 

"I  always  said  Butch  would  come  to  some  bad 
end,"  broke  in  Ma,  abruptly.  "He  oughter  been 
cuffed  more;  but  Mandy  wouldn't  do  it,  and  I 
didn't  always  have  time  when  it  was  most 
needed." 

"But  I  never  had  a  word  of  trouble  with 
Butchie  till  his  Pa  come  back  from  Klondike," 
testified  Mandy,  tearfully. 

"You  didn't  have  no  trouble,  Mandy  Panner, 
'cause  you  didn't  see  it  when  you  had  it,"  accused 
Ma,  bluntly.  "When  William  was  away  you 
spoilt  Butch;  and  now  when  William  tries  to 
make  a  man  of  him  everything  goes  wrong.  I 
don't  blame  William  one  bit  for  the  mix-up — 
and  William  needn't  blame  hisself.  A  born 
angel  with  wings,  and  a  palm  branch  a  mile  long 
182 


OPAL 

couldn't  make  no  dent  on  Butchie's  actions  nowj 
you've  let  him  have  his  own  way  too  long." 

"But  I'm  glad  that  I  never  punished  him,"  said 
Mandy,  stubbornly.  "I've  got  it  to  remember 
that  I  was  always  a  good  mother  toLittleButchie." 

"A  dark  closet  every  other  day  'd  give  Butch 
a  turn  in  the  right  direction,"  remarked  Ma, 
unfeelingly. 

"But  you  can't  shut  up  a  kid  that's  as  big  as 
Butch,"  dissented  his  father;  "he'd  think  his 
folks  wa'n't  bright." 

"Show  me  a  young  one  that  does  think  his 
folks  is  bright,"  observed  Ma,  tartly. 

"But  look  at  Jed,  here,  a  feller  to  be  proud  of," 
admired  Fanner. 

"I've  thrashed  Jed,"  admitted  Pa,  with  a  look 
of  pride  at  his  tall  son. 

"But  I  was  too  ha'sh,"  lamented  Fanner. 
"Still,  I  didn't  know  what  else  to  do." 

"You're  worryin'  your  head  off,  William, 
about  some  thin'  that  you  ain't  to  blame  for," 
declared  Ma.  "A  few  knocks  out  in  the  world  'd 
make  Butch  appreciate  his  home  folks  more." 

"And  Butch  is  jest  takin'  after  his   Pa  in 

wantin'  to  go  somewheres — nothin'  criminal  in 

that.     Fanner  inherited  a  dislike  of  wanderin' 

in  the  Klondike,  and  Butchie  11  have  to  be  cured 

183 


OPAL 

the  same  way,"  said  Pa,  with  rather  a  loose  choice 
of  words  even  for  him. 

"But  I  wanted  to  educate  the  little  tyke," 
sighed  Fanner,  "but  no,  he  goes  gallivantin'  off 
with  a  thrashin'-machine." 

"If  he'd  had  a  little  touch  of  the  thrashin' 
without  the  machine  at  home,  it  might  have  took 
the  roamin'  disposition  out'n  him,"  hinted  Ma. 

"But  I  built  great  hopes  on  the  little  lad's 
a-growin'  up  and  a-profitin'  by  all  my  experience ; 
but  he's  gone  now.  I've  made  several  kinds  of  a 
fool  out'n  myself  right  along,  but  I  says  to  my- 
self, 'It  '11  be  somethin'  to  warn  my  little  lad 
ag'in,  mebbe  it  '11  be  the  makin'  of  him.'  And 
the  thought  of  Butchie's  goin'  into  business  with 
me  some  day  has  been  a  tumble  prod  toward 
buildin'  up  the  business.  And  I  even  chose  the 
colors  of  that  sign,  'Fanner  and  Son.'  Yallow, 
it  was,  with  green  letters  and  pink  shadin'.  Oh, 
hum!" 

A  week  passed  and  Little  Butch  did  not  return, 
though  they  heard  definitely  that  he  was  in  the 
country;  and,  then,  one  morning  when  Mandy 
was  almost  hopeless,  she  found  this  letter  in  the 
mail-box. 

DEAR  MA, — I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  let  you  know 
that  I  am  well  and  working  on  a  thrashing  machine. 
184 


OPAL 

I  have  promised  Jake  Friday,  the  man  that  runs  it,  to 
stay  till  the  thrashing  is  all  done.  Our  nooning  hour 
ain't  any  at  all  some  days  after  dinner,  and  we  have  to 
work  till  dark  if  Jake  says  so. 

"  But  am  glad  to  work  and  see  something  of  the 
world  besides  our  old  town.  Tell  Jed  to  be  darn 
careful  of  that  there  fishpole  of  mine  if  he's  using  it. 
I  don't  want  it  broke.  Write  soon.  Best  wishes  to 
you  and  reserve  some  for  the  rest  of  the  bunch. 

And  remember  me  always  as 

MR.  CLARENCE  FANNER. 

P.  S. — Ma,  where  we  are  now  is  no  sheets  on  my  bed 
and  mostly  salt  pork.  And  fresh  aigs  all  git  salted 
down  to  be  sold  or  et  when  they  ain't.  We  don't  see 
none.  C.  P. 

Scarcely  had  Flickinger's  folks  got  through 
discussing  Butch's  first  letter  till  another  came, 
which  read: 

DEAR  MA  AND  PA, — I  don't  git  no  time  to  do  nothing 
but  hard  work.  The  meat  market  is  fun  beside 
thrashing.  And  no  place  to  spend  my  money  when  I 
do  git  it,  and  too  tired  to  go  to  town  after  work.  I  git 
blamed  tired  of  being  bossed  around.  And  some  places 
lard  for  butter.  Slept  twice  in  a  barn.  And  no  plaster  on 
my  room  now  and  hornets  in  this  attic—don't  say  nothing. 

A  feller  wouldn't  git  much  schooling  if  he  stayed 
up  here  thrashing  till  Jake  Friday  got  through  with 
him,  tell  Pa. 

Remember  me  to  my  father  and  all  others. 

Your  son,  BUTCH. 

P.  S.— Oh,  I  say,  tell  Opal  that  her  old  beau,  Seftie 
Woods,  was  buggy  ridin'  up  here  Thursday  with  Jane 

185 


OPAL 

Feather,  and  Lemuel  Sinn's  as  crazy  about  it  as  a  guy 
gits.  We  thrashed  one  hundred  bu.  oats  on  a  farm 
that's  Janes  when  an  old  ants  dead.  I  got  weighed 
Saturday,  and  I  am  fifteen  pounds  more  than  our 
scales  at  home,  or  these  lie.  B. 

Peace  was  now  restored  to  the  Fanner  home. 
William  was  getting  used  to  the  absence  of  his 
boy,  and  Mandy  was  happy  in  complaining  of 
the  way  Little  Butchie  was  treated  "up  country," 
when  a  third  letter  came  from  their  son. 

Big  Butch  sat  reading  this  welcome  scrawl  by 
the  dim  light  of  the  summer  sunset  that  shone 
uncertainly  through  Mandy's  grimy  kitchen  win- 
dow, flushing  the  cheap  paper  with  a  rosy  tinge 
very  suggestive  of  Big  Butch's  present  state  of 
mind.  For  here  was  a  letter  directed  to  him- 
self, and  it  cheered  him  wonderfully.  This  was 
what  he  read: 

DEAR  FATHER, — We  thrash  all  the  time  which  is  now 
a  old  story  to  me.  Only  one  decent  meal  this  week. 
Tell  Ma  I  haft  to  work  like  fury.  I  ain't  homesick 
but  the  cooking  up  here  is  fierce.  September  is  most 
here,  and  our  teacher  last  year  said  our  first  school  days 
ought  not  to  be  missed  or  what  comes  after  is  no  good. 

Pa,  you  write  a  letter  saying  you  need  me  bad  in  the 
meat  market,  and  I'll  show  it  to  Jake  Friday  as  an 
excuse;  for  I  give  my  word  to  stay  till  the  machine 
stopped,  and  Jake  says  he  can't  leave  none  go.  But  I 
guess  a  father  has  a  right  to  say  what  a  kid  does  ruther 
1 86 


OPAL 

than  a  man  of  no  relation.     And  I'll  tell  Jake  I  ain't  of 
age,  and  hate  to  go,  but  dassent  stay. 

I  could  put  up  meat  orders  all  day  with  care,  and  no 
meat  delivered  where  it  didn't  go.  Tell  Ma  I  haft  to 
work  too  hard,  and  no  cream  in  my  coffee  half  the  time 
and  lots  of  other  things  that  make  it  hard  on  me.  Git 
your  letter  up  here  by  Saturday  morning.  With  love  to 
all  reserving  plenty  for  yourself. 

Your  affectonate  Son 

BUTCHIE. 

"Mebbe  we'll  git  a  little  schoolin'  into  that 
lad's  head  yit,"  Fanner  told  his  wife  when  he 
read  the  letter.  "And  I  dunno  as  pink  'd  be  as 
good  for  shadin'  that  sign  as  sky-blue." 

"To  think  of  havin'  him  home  Sunday!" 
exclaimed  his  mother,  happily.  "William,  git 
a-grindin'  on  your  answer." 

After  a  hard  hour's  work  with  the  slender  pen- 
holder gripped  in  his  great  hand,  Fanner  trium- 
phantly produced  the  following  letter,  which  he 
read  to  his  wife : 

DEAR  SON, — Be  glad  you  got  a  good  hardworking 
job.  And  be  glad  you  got  enough  good  honest  vittals 
to  fill  you  up  even  if  it  ain't  ice  cream  and  fixings. 
Stay  by  your  job  till  Mr.  Friday  says  you  can  go,  then 
we'll  talk  school.  You  undertook  that  job,  now  you 
finish  it.  In  your  next  letter  tell  us  more  about  what 
part  of  the  work  you  do,  and  if  you  do  it  better,  and 
give  us  less  clack  about  your  vittals.  Stand  by  your 
187 


OPAL 

job  and  a  man  never  reggrets  it.  And  remember  to  be 
square  with  them  as  in  any  way  treats  you  well,  and 
also  with  all  others.  Respectfully, 

WILLIAM  FANNER. 

Before  he  had  finished,  Mandy  was  in  tears. 
"Oh,  William,"  she  protested,  "how  can  you 
be  so  ha'sh  when  Little  Butchie  wants  to  come 
home  ?  The  only  little  boy  we  ever  had." 

"I  can't  write  anything  else.  He's  gotta  be 
taught  to  keep  his  word.  The  thrashin'-machine 
may  make  a  man  of  him  yit." 

"Mebbe  you've  done  right,"  wavered  Mandy; 
"but  Butchie's  victuals  is  so  bum — he  says  so 
himself  in  every  letter." 

"But  the  little  tyke's  gettin'  fat,"  grinned  the 
boy's  father,  sealing  the  letter  and  then  holding 
his  great  first  down  on  the  envelope,  as  if  he 
feared  a  word  of  advice  might  escape  unless  he 
were  careful.  "And  it  comes  to  me  like  this, 
Mandy,  to  tackle  the  problem  of  makin'  a  man 
of  Little  Butch,  jest  like  I  tackled  the  problem 
of  gettin'  home  from  Klondike  when  I  was  broke ; 
and  the  first  step  is  to  make  him  stick  by  his  job." 

"And  the  way  you  dashed  off  that  letter,  Will- 
iam," admired  Mandy,  won  for  the  time  at  least  to 
her  husband's  way  of  thinking.  ' '  I  never  could  'a' 
helt  up  my  head  if  I  'd  'a '  married  an  'iggerunt  man . ' ' 
1 88 


VIII 
OPA  L'S    OUTING 

OPAL  needs  a  outin',  Pa,"  informed  Ma 
Flickinger  one  day  as  her  husband  was 
hosing  the  flowers.  "She's  a-lookin' 
altogether  too  droopy.  Ever  since  Sef  Woods 
give  her  the  go-by,  she's  been  a-lettin'  her  mind 
run  on  him — and  it's  gotta  be  broke  up!" 

"Poor  kid!"  lamented  Pa  Flickinger,  as  he 
delicately  showered  a  crowd  of  pansies  till  they 
ducked  their  glad  faces  under  the  cool  drops, 
"I'd  ruther  Opal  'd  be  a-puttin'  us  through  our 
genteel  sprouts  about  usin'  dictionary  words 
and  a-eatin'  stylish  than  to  be  so  cut  up  as  this! 
I  don't  half  so  much  mind  a  disagreeable,  big- 
headed  girl  like  Opal  was  after  she  graduated, 
as  I  do  a  doleful,  unhappy  one.  And  as  long  as 
Seftie  Woods  ast  Opal  to  go  to  that  picnic,  he 
oughter  'a'  took  her  there.  The  durned  hand- 
painted  chromo!" 

"But  she'll  never  git  over  it  till  she  has 

13  189 


OPAL 

thin'  new  to  feed  her  mind  on,"  declared  his 
wif e ;   "  she  needs  a  change . ' ' 

"Sure,"  assented  Pa;  "a  rollin'  stone  don't 
git  much  time  for  the  blues." 

"And  it  makes  me  so  mad  when  I  think  how 
wishie-washie  Opal  is.  I  never  see  such  a  limp 
young  one — she  must  git  it  from  you.  So  we've 
gotta  do  somethin'  catchy  to  rouse  her  up,  and 
give  her  somethin'  to  think  of  besides  Sef 
Woods." 

' '  But  suppose  she  won't  think  of  it  ?"  suggested 
Pa,  turning  a  stream  of  water  on  a  drooping 
dahlia. 

"Pa,  whatever  makes  you  act  so  contrary? 
Onct  git  that  old  hose  into  your  hands  and  you 
talk  and  act  like  all  possessed!  If  Opal  stays 
right  at  home  and  never  sees  nobody,  she'll  git 
yallow  and  discontented  and  have  no  mind  for 
her  books.  I  want  her  to  study  and  teach  school. 
But  she's  gotta  have  a  little  new  life." 

"Goin'  to  have  a  lawn  party  with  Chinese 
lanterns  that  set  the  house  afire,  and  wilted  ice- 
cream that's  got  salt  in  it  ?"  inquired  Pa,  jocosely, 
trickling  drops  like  rain  with  a  sure  hand  up  and 
down  a  red  gladiola. 

"Land,  no,  I  want  to  git  her  away  from 
home." 

190 


OPAL 

"Oh,  I  say!"  cried  Pa,  suddenly.  "Why  not 
all  of  us  go  over  to  Zion  Park  some  day  ?" 

"I  ain't  got  no  use  for  Zion  Park,"  dissented 
Ma;  "it's  jammed  full  of  folks  and  cheap  doin's. 
And  like  enough  Seftie  Woods  '11  be  snoopin' 
around  there.  But  I'd  kinder  like  to  go  to 
Weston  Springs." 

"Shucks!"  scoffed  Pa,  in  a  disgusted  voice, 
"what's  there?" 

"I  dunno  jest  what  is  there,  'cause  I  never  was 
to  Weston  Springs — nor  Zion,  neither.  But  it  '11 
be  somethin'  new  for  Opal.  And  I  always  had 
a  hankerin'  myself  to  go  to  Weston  Springs." 

"But  the  Springs  ain't  more'n  a  mile  an'  a 
half  'cross  lots  from  here,"  said  Pa. 

"Well,  that's  no  sign  I've  ever  been  there; 
besides,  it's  a  long  way  'round  on  the  street-cars — 
and  all  for  five  cents." 

"But  you  can't  do  nothin'  but  drink  out'n 
forty-leven  springs  and  waddle  around  in  a  creek 
bottom,"  disparaged  Pa.  "I'd  jest  as  lief  spend 
a  day  in  Applewhite's  cow  pasture." 

"What  've  you  got  ag'in  the  Springs  all  of  a 
sudden?" 

"Nothin',  only  there  ain't  no  kind  of  excite- 
ment there.  But  Zion  Park,  oh,  say,  Ma! 
there's  a  dandy  place,  and  jest  this  side  of  Wes- 
191 


OPAL 

ton  Springs — almost  as  long  a  ride.  And  there's 
band  music,  and  swans,  and  bears,  and  ridiculous 
squakin'  birds,  and  monkeys — and  snakes,  for 
all  I  know.  Oh,  I've  heard  the  feller's  tell  about 
it.  Shucks,  Ma,  that's  the  place  to  go  to." 

"It  '11  be  jest  as  Opal  says ;  if  she  seems  to  like 
the  idee  of  Weston  Springs,  we'll  go,"  said  Ma, 
unmoved  by  Pa's  realistic  recital  of  the  charms 
of  Zion  Park. 

That  evening  when  Ma  and  Pa  and  Opal 
and  Jed  were  sitting  on  the  back  porch,  Ma 
broached  the  subject  of  the  proposed  outing  to 
Opal. 

' '  How  'd  you  like  to  go  over  to  Weston  Springs 
for  a  little  outin',  Opal?"  asked  her  mother, 
pleasantly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Opal  answered,  listlessly. 

"Would  you  ruther  go  to  St.  Joe  ?"  questioned 
her  mother,  anxiously. 

"Oh  no." 

"Well,  then,  what's  the  matter  with  Weston 
Springs?"  asked  Ma,  sharply. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Opal,  without  the  slightest 
interest. 

"Well,  nothin'  ain't  no  answer,"  complained 
her  mother. 

"We  could  go  to  Zion  Park,"  reminded  Pa. 
192 


OPAL 

"Pa,"  expostulated  his  wife,  "I  thought  that 
was  settled." 

"If  the  outin's  goin'  to  be  for  Opal,  why  in 
tunket  don't  you  let  the  girl  choose  her  own 
place?"  demanded  Pa,  slightly  ruffled. 

"Who  said  it  was  for  Opal?"  scowled  Ma. 
"It's  for  the  hull  family,"  she  hastily  explained. 
"We're  all  a-needin'  a  little  change." 

"Who'd  want  to  go  to  Weston  Park  or  Zion 
either  when  they  could  stay  at  home  and  rest?" 
yawned  Jed,  tired  from  his  day's  work  on  the 
farm. 

"That's  about  right,  Jed,"  ventured  Pa$  then 
he  could  not  help  adding,  "only  if  we're  a-goin' 
anywhere  I'd  a  leetle  ruther  it  'd  be  to  Zion." 

"Then  let's  go  to  Zion,  if  Pa  wants  to," 
said  Opal,  willingly  enough,  though  without 
enthusiasm. 

"We  won't  do  no  such  thing,"  struck  in  Ma, 
crossly.  "My  heart's  sot  on  Weston  Springs. 
Everybody  else  goes  to  Zion,  and  it  don't  look 
right  to  go  traipsin'  off  on  Sunday  with  a  great 
passel  of  other  folks.  But  jest  our  own  family 
goin'  in  a  quiet  way  and  takin'  a  picnic  supper — 
that's  different." 

"Ain't  gittin'  stylish  all  of  a  sudden,  are  you, 
Ma?"  grinned  her  husband. 


OPAL 

"Ma's  gettin'  exclusive,  Pa,"  explained  Jed. 
"Willie  Briggs's  example's  beginnin'  to  work 
at  last." 

"Shut  up,  Jed — I  dunno  as  any  of  us  '11  go 
anywheres.  For  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  drag  my 
family  unwillin'  after  me  to  Weston  Springs — 
or  nowhere  else,"  retorted  Ma,  sharply.  "Be- 
sides, I  don't  know  if  we'd  git  there  if  we  did 
start ;  there  'd  be  the  transfers,  and  the  last  per- 
son to  git  one  out  of  is  a  street -car  conductor." 

"Then  let's  not  try  to  go,"  said  Opal;  "the 
weather  is  so  warm  now,  and  we'll  all  get  so 
tired." 

"When  I  make  up  my  mind  to  go  to  a  place, 
I  like  to  go,"  said  Ma,  shortly.  "And  I  don't 
see  why,  Opal,  you  should  stick  in  and  change 
our  plans.  I  was  a-goin'  to  kill  two  hens  and 
take  a  picnic  supper.  A-eatin'  chicken  meat 
outdoors  is  a  buildin'-up  process  for  anybody." 

Opal,  seeing  that  her  mother  wished  her  to  go, 
offered  no  more  objections. 

When  Sunday  came,  Opal  dreaded  the  picnic; 
but  her  mother  was  determined  to  go.  And 
Opal  feared  that  she  would  be  expected  to  wear 
the  new  white  dress  that  she  had  made  for 
Berrien  Springs ;  but  her  mother  was  of  a  more 
economical  turn  of  mind.  "You  don't  want  to 
194 


OPAL 

wear  your  new  white  togs,  do  you,  Opal?"  she 
anxiously  inquired. 

"No,  I'd  rather  not,"  answered  Opal. 

"That's  sense,"  acquiesced  Ma;  "any  old 
thing  is  good  enough  for  scrougin'  on  and  off 
cars  and  transferrin',  and  eatin'  off  the  ground." 

With  a  heavy  heart,  Opal  recalled  the  fresh, 
rain-washed  morning  in  early  June  when  she 
had  waited  for  Sefton  Woods  to  come,  as  she 
put  on  her  old  white  dress  and  with  dreary 
reluctance  made  ready  for  her  outing  at  Weston 
Springs. 

"I  kinder  wish  I  had  a  summer  dress  to  wear," 
sighed  Ma  when  she  was  encased  in  her  faded 
black  alpaca  as  in  a  rusty  armor.  "This  here 
worsted  is  a  leetle  raspy  on  a  bilin'  day.  I 
wonder  if  I  oughter  wear  my  fleece-lined  dog- 
skins? Would  you,  or  wouldn't  you?"  she 
asked  Opal. 

"It's  too  warm  to  wear  gloves,"  Opal  told  her. 

"I  could,  though,"  hesitated  Ma,  desiring  to 
look  her  poor  best.  "It's  Sunday,  mebbe  I 
oughter;  but  probably  the  rest  of  our  crowd  '11 
go  barehanded,  and  I  don't  want  to  look  more 
scrumptious  than  they  do,  and  call  attention 
to  what  they  ain't  got." 

In  the  midst  of  these  preparations,  Sophie,  cool 


OPAL 

in  her  immaculate  light-blue  wrapper  and  white 
apron,  came  in. 

"Haft  to  hustle,  Sophie,  if  you  git  ready  in 
time,"  warned  Ma. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  we  sha'n't  go, 
already,"  said  Sophie.  "It  is  too  hot  for  the 
baby ;  and  Billie's  so  tired  from  his  week's  work 
that  he  lies  on  the  floor  and  sleeps." 

"Are  you  goin'  to  have  all  your  pleasure  in 
life  cut  off  by  Ludwig?"  demanded  Ma,  crossly. 

"But  Ludwig  won't  be  a  baby  so  long,  and  I 
can  enjoy  best  to  tend  him  at  home  when  he's  so 
little." 

"Let  me  stay  with  the  baby,  Sophie,"  begged 
Opal,  wistfully,  "if  you'd  like  to  go." 

"No,  I  shouldn't  care  one  bit  to  go;  but  you 
come  over  and  stay  with  us,  anyway,  Opal,"  in- 
vited Sophie.  "Mamma  Flickinger,  maybe  Opal 
isn't  strong  enough  to  go.  This  hot  weather 
takes  a  terrible  lot  out  of  peoples." 

"Opal's  gotta  go,"  cried  Ma,  excitedly;  "she 
ain't  so  red-complected  as  some,  but — " 

"I'd  rather  stay  at  home,"  said  Opal,  looking 
appealingly  at  her  mother. 

"Well,  heavens  to  Betsy!"  exclaimed  Ma, 
angrily,  "listen  to  this  young  one.  No  pride! 
No  nothin'!  You've  gotta  stop  mopin'  'round 
196 


OPAL 

and  chirk  yourself  up  and  go.  I  hope  none  of 
the  rest  of  us  will  ever  git  daffy  over  a  feller 
ag'in." 

So  Opal  knew  now  that  her  mother  was  going 
to  Weston  Springs  especially  to  take  her.  And 
she  had  less  heart  than  ever  for  the  dreary  enter- 
prise. She  was  ashamed  of  her  family  and  their 
odd  ways,  and  she  knew  from  bitter  experience 
that  they  would  attract  attention  wherever  they 
went.  Since  Sef ton's  desertion  she  had  been  too 
discouraged  to  correct  them ;  but  she  still  wor- 
ried for  fear  other  people  would  think  them 
queer. 

As  Sophie  went  out  the  back  way,  Jule  bounced 
in  at  the  side  door,  while  her  twins,  Janice  and 
Jasper,  and  Milo,  her  husband,  were  still  a  block 
behind;  for  Jule  was  always  anxious  to  be  on 
time.  She  was  dressed  in  an  old  faded  lawn 
that  hung  limp  and  baggy  on  her  spare  figure; 
but  Jule  was  sure  that  she  looked  right ;  for  she 
wore  a  mammoth  new  tan  hat,  trimmed  with  stiff 
sails  of  yellow  and  red  straw. 

"The  worst  yit,"  pronounced  Ma,  referring  to 
Jule's  flamboyant  head-gear.  "What  you  got  in 
your  bag?" 

"Onions,  and  a  few  spears  of  mint,  should  the 
twinses  need  it;  Grandpaw  Peebles  sent  'em. 
197 


OPAL 

But  he  said  it  was  too  hot  for  him  to  go  to  any- 
body's picnic  to-day." 

"He  could  'a'  took  a  palm-leaf  and  chanced 
it.  And  I  dunno,  Jule,  but  what  we're  doin'  a 
foolish  thing  in  traipsin'  off  on  a  jant  like  this, 
way  to  t'other  side  of  town,  'cause  Opal's  actin' 
spunkier 'n  tunket — she  don't  want  to  go." 

"It  won't  sp'ile  my  day  none  if  she  stays  at 
home,"  remarked  Jule,  loftily. 

Opal,  overhearing  this  remark,  thought  what  a 
disagreeable  family  the  Flickingers  were,  and 
especially  Jule. 

Milo  Peebles,  the  meek  father  of  the  twins, 
soon  dropped  non-committally  in,  as  if  he  had 
never  heard  of  the  intended  outing,  but  had 
just  chanced  along.  And  he  at  once  effaced 
himself  by  finding  a  chair  in  a  stuffy  corner,  from 
which  remote  obscurity  he  contributed  nothing 
to  the  conversation.  Milo  was  chewing  a  long 
timothy  grass  with  a  wiry  stem  and  a  powdery 
head ;  and  Opal  knew  that  it  would  be  his  in- 
separable companion  to  the  springs  and  back. 

"And  where's  Billie?"  demanded  Jule,  looking 
sharply  around,  "though  it  'd  be  a  relief  not  to 
have  him  along." 

"'Tain't  nothin'   concernin'  you,   Jule,   that 
keeps  Billie  to  home,"  informed  her  mother 5  "it's 
198 


OPAL 

Sophie,  she's  too  self-sacrificin' ;  she  says  it's 
too  much  of  a  tug  for  Ludwig.  'Pears  like,  Jule, 
them  twinses  of  yourn  'd  be  more  comfortable 
in  summer  clothes  than  in  them  blue  worsted 
things  on  a  day  like  this." 

"Their  cotton  duds  are  all  in  the  wash;  be- 
sides, they  never  know  what  they've  got  onto 
theirselves,  they're  that  crazy-actin',"  said  Jule, 
easily. 

The  twins  were  making  themselves  at  home 
on  the  lounge,  jouncing  up  and  down  and  wrig- 
gling about.  In  one  moist,  brown  hand  each 
twin  carried  a  coarse  white  handkerchief  with 
a  purple  border.  These  handkerchiefs,  which 
were  stiff  with  starch  and  primly  folded,  were  not 
to  be  used,  but  were  carried  exclusively  for  show, 
ornamentation,  and  vainglory. 

Jed,  scorning  to  make  one  in  the  spectacular 
family  group,  sat  placidly  reading  on  the  back 
porch. 

"What's  that  book  you're  froze  onto?"  asked 
his  mother,  sharply. 

"It's  a  logic." 

"What's  that?"  Ma  was  mystified. 

"It  teaches  you  to  think,"  explained  Jed — 
"to  think  right." 

"It  don't  say  nothin'  about  a  boy's  thinkin' 
199 


OPAL 

enough  of  his  mother  to  go  to  her  picnic,  does 
it?"  Ma  wanted  to  know. 

"Nothin'  so  far,"  grinned  Jed. 

Pa  Flickinger,  clad  in  his  ancient  black  suit, 
which  Ma  considered  a  fitting  garment  for  any 
festal  occasion,  had  to-day,  in  deference  to 
Opal's  desire  for  style,  submitted  to  a  shining 
celluloid  collar  and  a  crumpled,  pale-blue  tie. 
And  his  appearance  was  further  embellished 
by  his  carrying  the  gold-headed  cane  that  Cousin 
Becker  Mosley  had  willed  to  Ma  Flickinger. 

"A  swelterin'  day,  Ma,  for  your  picnic  doin's," 
panted  fat  Mandy,  who  came  in  followed  by  her 
husband.  "The  thermometer  has  rose  and 
rose  till  me  and  William  pretty  nigh  stayed  at 
home." 

"You  could  of,"  snapped  Ma,  feeling  aggrieved 
because  everybody  was  not  eager  to  go  to  her 
picnic. 

"But  seein'  it  was  'special  like  for  Opal,  we 
toggled  up,  and  here  we  be,"  said  Mandy,  frankly, 
sinking  into  the  largest  rocker.  Mandy  was 
certainly  the  fattest  woman  outside  a  show ;  and 
her  blue  waist  with  its  immense  white  polka- 
dots,  and  a  brick-red  skirt,  accentuated  her  size. 
William  Fanner,  purified  for  the  occasion  with 
nobody  knows  how  much  soap  and  ammonia  and 

200 


OPAL 

gasolene,  looked  uncomfortably  clean  in  his 
cheap  summer  suit. 

"Pa  and  Milo,  hook  yourselves  onto  them  two 
lunch-baskets,"  ordered  Ma.  "If  it  wa'n't  for 
me,  I  guess  nobody  'd  ever  budge.  We  gotta 
git  started." 

"It's  cool  and  comfortable  a-settin'  here," 
sighed  Fanner,  rising. 

"For  a  cent  I'd  jerk  off  my  glad  rags  and  take 
my  picnic  out  on  the  porch  with  Jed  and  his 
think  book,"  declared  Pa,  with  more  initiative 
than  he  usually  displayed. 

"We  wouldn't  have  come  in  the  first  place  if 
it  hadn't  'a'  been  jest  as  it  was,  a  outin'  for 
Opal,"  declared  Mandy,  rising  reluctantly  with 
the  others. 

"Oh,  Ma,  let's  all  of  us  stay  at  home," 
petitioned  Opal,  whose  pale  face  should  have 
reproached  Mrs.  Flickinger  for  wishing  to  drag 
her  daughter  off  in  the  heat  and  dust  after  a 
phantom  pleasure. 

"I  don't  git  myself  and  my  two  twinses  and 
Milo  into  their  Sunday  duds  for  nothin',"  broke 
in  Jule,  decidedly;  "I'm  goin',"  and  grabbing 
a  twin  in  each  hand  she  bolted  out  of  the 
house. 

Though  Ma  at  last  got  the  family  started,  and 


OPAL 

her  cherished  plan  of  having  an  outing  at  Weston 
Springs  was  being  carried  out,  yet  she  was  not 
particularly  happy;  for,  with  the  exception  of 
Jule,  none  of  the  family  was  willing  to  go. 

The  day  was  hot,  and  it  had  not  rained  in  so 
long  that  dust  covered  everything  and  rose  in 
blinding  clouds  along  the  unpaved  streets.  The 
whole  earth  seemed  to  pant  for  moisture  as  the 
Flickingers  waited  for  the  street -car  beside  the 
hot,  glistening  tracks  in  the  suburbs. 

"The  worst  drawback  to  a  picnic  jant  like  this 
is  totin'  the  victuals,"  grumbled  Pa,  mopping  his 
face  with  a  murky  handkerchief. 

"Even  an  umbrelT  ain't  much  protection  ag'in 
the  bilin'  sun  to-day,"  complained  Mandy. 

"If  you  had  a  hat  like  mine,"  remarked  Jule, 
complacently,  "you  wouldn't  know  nothin' 
about  it." 

"I'm  tired  enough  to  drop,"  admitted  Ma; 
"but  onct  onto  the  car  I  can  set  down,  and 
a-lookin'  outer  the  winder  '11  take  my  mind  off'n 
how  tuckered  I  be." 

"If  you'd  'a'  chose  a  leetle  cooler  day,  I 
wouldn't  have  objected,"  said  Pa. 

"  If  I'd  been  the  weather  man  I  suppose  I  could 
of,"  returned  Ma,  in  anything  but  a  pleasant 
voice. 


OPAL 

"I'd  V  been  thankful  for  weather  like  this  in 
Klondike,"  observed  Fanner.  "I'd  a  sight  ruther 
bile  than  freeze." 

"To-day  I'd  ruther  freeze — if  you  ast  me," 
put  in  Milo. 

"I  dunno  why  Ma  always  expects  Milo  to  tote 
everything,"  fretted  Jule,  reduced  to  peevish 
complaint  by  the  condition  of  the  weather. 

"Give  me  a-holt  of  Milo's  bastic,"  cried  Fanner, 
heartily. 

'  'Tain't  a-hetchelin'  me  none,"  protested  Milo, 
politely. 

"Anyway,  I'll  tote  it  for  a  spell,"  promised 
Fanner,  forcibly  wresting  it  from  Milo. 

Opal  was  miserably  conscious  of  their  kindly 
meant  but  foolish  conversation,  and  feared  that 
some  one  whom  she  knew  might  pass;  and  she 
was  not  to  be  disappointed ;  for,  clean  as  if  there 
were  no  such  thing  as  dust,  his  round,  freckled 
face  pink  with  exertion,  his  linen  suit  immacu- 
late, came  Willie  Briggs,  who  lifted  his  hat  with 
a  punctilious  "Good -afternoon,"  and  passed  on 
with  a  flaming  face. 

"Land,  I  wisht  to  goodness  we  hadn't  come!" 
exclaimed  Ma,  in  a  flurry,  "everything's  so  dis- 
agreeable." 

"A  clean -lookin'  lad,"  ventured  Fanner. 
203 


OPAL 

"Clean,  yes,"  snorted  Pa;  "but  a  starched 
hop-toad  for  all  that." 

' '  So  that's  one  of  the  fellers  that  Opal  wouldn't 
marry,"  said  Fanner. 

"It's  the  only  one  she  ever  had  the  chanct  to 
marry,"  Jule  cruelly  informed  him. 

The  car,  which  soon  came,  was  so  crowded  that 
even  Ma  had  to  stand.  And  Fanner  and  Pa 
Flickinger,  laden  with  their  heavy  lunch-baskets, 
looked  the  very  antithesis  of  happy  picnickers. 

"Pa,  remember  the  transfers,"  yelled  Ma, 
hanging  from  a  strap  far  down  the  aisle;  and 
as  the  conductor  weaved  among  the  passengers 
collecting  fares,  she  never  once  lost  sight  of 
him. 

"You  wouldn't  'a'  got  a  transfer  out'n  a  con- 
ductor in  this  livin'  world,  if  I  hadn't  'a'  kept 
my  eye  on  him,"  Ma  told  her  husband,  after  they 
had  left  the  car  at  the  main  corners  down-town. 

"Ruther  a  joltin'  ride,"  laughed  William 
Fanner,  as  they  waited  for  the  Weston  Springs 
car;  "still,  I've  rid  on  worse  up  in — " 

"William,  where's  your  victuals?"  cried  Ma, 
aghast. 

"The  bastic — durn  it  all — where's  that  bas- 
tic?"  boomed  Fanner,  frantically. 

"Shut  up,  William,  or  folks  '11  think  you  want 
204 


OPAL 

the  police,"  ordered  his  wife.     "Here  it  is.     You 
left  it  in  the  car  and  I  brung  it  along." 

"Jest  let  one  more  car  go  by  marked  Howe 
Avenue,  and  back  home  we  pike — victuals  and 
all,"  vowed  Ma,  crossly. 

When  at  last  the  right  car  came,  the  Flick- 
ingers  hurried  on  with  a  crowd  of  other  pleasure- 
seekers.  And  Jule,  remembering  how  she  had 
been  obliged  to  stand  on  the  way  down,  dived 
ahead,  boring  her  great  hat  aggressively  through 
the  struggling  humanity,  her  intrepid  nerve 
landing  her  in  a  seat,  though  the  rest  of  the 
family  still  hung  to  straps. 

"If  I'd  'a'  knowed  it  'd  be  anything  like  this, 
I'd  'a'  stayed  home  till  doomsday,"  complained 
Ma.  "I  can't  see  anything  but  other  folks's 
backs,  and  I'd  drop  if  I  had  any  place  to  drop 
in." 

Milo,  far  in  the  rear,  made  a  funnel  of  his 
hands  and  shouted  to  Jule,  the  motion  of  the  car 
jerking  out  the  sentence  in  two  parts:  "Jule, 
give  your  Ma — your  seat!" 

But  Jule,  supposing  that  her  husband  was 
just  congratulating  her  on  having  secured  a  seat, 
nodded  and  smiled  back  at  him,  and  then  turned 
complacently  around  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

14  205 


OPAL 

After  a  tedious  ride,  the  music  of  the  band 
burst  shrilly  on  them,  playing  a  patriotic  air. 
The  car  stopped,  and  there  was  a  general  exodus 
of  people. 

"We're  here,"  Ma  informed  Pa;  "come  on." 
For  she  could  catch  glimpses  of  great  oaks, 
large  buildings,  and  crowded  grounds. 

But  he  only  dropped  into  the  nearest  vacated 
seat,  remarking  curtly:  "It's  Zion." 

Ma  had  just  sat  down,  and  was  preparing  to 
enjoy  the  scenery,  when  the  car  stopped. 

"Mosey  out,"  ordered  Pa,  glumly. 

"This  looks  jest  like  Zion  Park  back  there, 
only  not  so  much  so,"  exclaimed  Ma,  surprised, 
as  they  left  the  car  and  started  for  Weston 
Springs  gate. 

As  Ma  had  gotten  up  the  picnic,  Pa  generously 
paid  the  entrance  fee  for  them  all.  "How  much 
for  these  twinses?"  he  inquired  of  the  gate- 
keeper. 

"Nothing,  they  come  in  free,"  answered  the 
man. 

"You  was  a  fool,  Pa,  to  offer  to  pay  for  the 
twinses,"  disapproved  Jule,  when  they  were 
safely  inside  the  park. 

"I  don't  beat  my  way  nowhere,"  returned  Pa, 
with  emphasis. 

206 


OPAL 

"You're  too  free  with  your  money,  though," 
grumbled  Jule;  "some  folks  'd  'a'  took  it  jest 
because  you  offered  it." 

Only  a  wire  fence  separated  the  little  ravine 
that  contained  the  springs  from  the  field  beside 
them. 

"What's  that  bob-wire  fence  for?"  Ma  wanted 
to  know. 

"It's  to  keep  folks  out'n  the  springs,"  Pa 
grudgingly  informed  her. 

Jule  leading,  they  trailed  down  a  narrow, 
rooty  path  into  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  where 
walks  were  laid  out  on  the  spongy  ground  that 
was  drained  by  a  shallow  stream  but  a  few  feet 
.wide.  At  intervals  there  were  springs  spouting 
out  of  pipes  and  overflowing  small  tanks.  And 
the  properties  of  the  water  were  labelled  in  white 
letters  on  red  boards  that  stood  up  behind  the 
tanks  like  tombstones.  The  little  valley  was 
shaded  by  trees,  and  should  have  been  a  very 
acceptable  place  for  weary  picnickers  on  a 
sultry  day. 

"Is  these  the  springs  ?"  Ma  wanted  to  know  in 
an  awful  voice,  after  they  had  drunk  out  of  one 
spring,  whose  warm,  mineral-laden  water  was  un- 
pleasant to  her  taste. 

"These  're  thum,"  returned  Fanner,  concisely. 
207 


OPAL 

"Heavens  to  Betsy!"  exclaimed  Ma,  violently. 
"Pa,  you  was  right,  Applewhite's  cow  pasture 
has  this  thing  beat  a  mile.  What  'dwe  come 
here  for — you  knew  about  it!" 

"I  did  say  what  I  could  ag'in  it,"  reminded 
Pa,  mildly. 

"I  kinder  like  it  here,  it's  so  cool,"  remarked 
Milo,  politely;  but  his  mother-in-law  froze  him 
with  a  look. 

"And  the  trees  are  so  beautiful,"  said  Opal, 
showing  the  first  signs  of  approval  that  day. 

' ' Forty-leven  springs,"  quoted  Ma,  gloomily, 
coming  to  another. 

"I  like  it  here,"  declared  Opal,  heartily;  "let's 
find  a  seat  and  rest." 

' '  Rest !"  snorted  Ma.  ' '  But  there  ain't  nothin' 
or  nobody  to  see!" 

"I  said  it  was  a  leetle  lackin'  in  excitement," 
Pa  could  not  help  but  add. 

"Why  can't  we  go  up  on  the  bluff  on  the  farther 
side  and  see  those  big  oaks?"  asked  Opal.  "We 
could  eat  our  supper  there,"  for  Opal  was  just 
beginning  in  a  quiet  way  to  enjoy  herself  at  the 
springs. 

"No,  sir!"  vetoed  Ma.  "I've  saw  enough 
of  this  place.  Only  half  a  dozen  folks  here 
besides  our  own  crowd.  And  at  five  cents 
208 


OPAL 

a  head;    might   better  'a'  throwed    it   in  the 
well!" 

"Zion  'd  'a'  been  the  place,"  affirmed  Jule, 
boldly;  "Pa  said  so  all  the  time.  And  now 
we'll  jest  have  to  mosey  over  there;  but  that 
won't  bring  back  Pa's  thirty-five  cents." 

"That's  right,  Jule,"  admitted  Ma,  bitterly, 
"that  thirty-five  cents  is  went  for  good." 

"There  ain't  no  earthly  reason  why  we  can't 
go  to  Zion  yit,"  insisted  Jule. 

"Could  we?"  Ma  asked,  doubtfully.  "Land! 
I  dunno  what  to  do.  Probably  the  sensible 
thing  would  be  to  take  the  first  car  home.  What 
say,  Pa?" 

"Zion  is  free — "  began  Pa,  persuasively. 

"Absolutely  free,"  echoed  Jule. 

"  So  I  say  let's  all  hands  pike  that  way.  Never 
too  late  to  pike,"  announced  Pa,  authoritative- 
ly, growing  more  lively  every  minute.  "But 
lemme  git  one  more  good  drink  afore  we  va- 
mose." ^ 

"And  give  the  twinses  a  swaller  of  somethin' 
that  ain't  too  bilious -lookin',  Pa,"  said  Jule. 
"It  '11  be  nice  for  'em  to  remember  when  they're 
old  that  they  drinked  out'n  Weston  Springs." 

"It  '11  be  somethin'  for  me  to  forgit,"  said  Ma, 
grimly.     "Where's  that  band?" 
209 


OPAL 

"Zion,"  informed  Milo,  with  considerable 
animation  for  him. 

"Let's  stay  here,"  begged  Opal;  "there'll  be 
so  many  people  over  there." 

"You  don't  want  to  hang  around  here  any 
longer,  Opal,"  declared  her  father. 

"You'll  like  Zion  Park  a  million  times  better 'n 
this  here,"  cheerfully  exaggerated  Jule. 

"I'll  betche  it  '11  be  cooler  there,"  prophe- 
sied Milo. 

"And  the  bears  '11  tickle  you  to  death,  Opal," 
encouraged  Fanner. 

"I  like  it  better  here,"  began  Opal,  who 
dreaded  a  crowd;  but  her  quiet  voice  was  lost 
in  the  shrill  babble  of  the  others  holding  forth 
on  the  attractions  of  Zion. 

"This  is  onct  when  I  am  completely  flabber- 
gasted," Ma  confessed  to  Pa. 

"Nothin'  queer  in  that,  Ma,  seein'  you  didn't 
know  the  facts,"  soothed  Pa.  "And  it  won't 
take  us  five  minutes  to  go  over  to  Zion." 

"And  somethin'  doin'  there  all  the  time,  Mrs. 
Flickinger,"  urged  Panner. 

"And  twict  as  swell,"  puffed  fat  Mandy. 

"Zion's  got  springs,  too,"  supplemented  Milo. 

During  this  conversation  they  had  been  mov- 
ing almost  unconsciously  toward  the  entrance 


OPAL 

gate.  And  they  now  filed  out  dumbly,  with  the 
exception  of  Pa,  who  remarked  perfunctorily  to 
the  gate-keeper:  "A  fine  place  on  a  b'ilin'  day." 

"Come  ag'in,"  invited  the  man,  with  salaried 
hospitality. 

"We  certainly  shall,"  answered  Pa,  easily. 

"I  dunno,  Pa,  as  you  oughter  hold  out  false 
hope  like  that,"  admonished  Ma.  "I  certainly 
sha'n't  take  in  the  springs  ag'in." 

"Oh,  I  had  to  say  somethin',"  answered  Pa, 
easily. 

"Pa  couldn't  'a'  said  less,"  declared  Jule,  who 
was  in  her  most  agreeable  mood;  "it  wouldn't 
'a'  been  polite  to  'a'  said  the  truth." 

Zion  Park,  which  was  really  but  a  continuation 
of  Weston  Springs  ravine,  was  swarmed  with 
people.  There  was  a  small  amphitheatre  and  a 
mammoth,  brightly  painted  eating-house,  in 
front  of  which  the  band  was  still  playing  patriotic 
airs.  Several  swans  were  swimming  in  a  small 
scooped-out  pond.  And  in  one  corner  of  the 
grounds  were  cages  of  bears  and  strange  birds. 
While  everywhere  in  their  peculiar  uniforms 
were  the  obsequious  followers  of  Zion. 

The  Flickingers  secured  seats  facing  the  band, 
and  Pa's  eyes  already  had  a  festive  glint  that 
spoke  of  intense  enjoyment.  But  the  music 


OPAL 

made  the  twins  restive,  and  they  pulled  Opal 
toward  the  animal-house,  though  she  refused  to 
go  there  with  them.  She  felt  superior  and  aloof 
and  bored,  and  was  more  miserable  than  she  had 
ever  been  in  all  her  short,  monotonous  young 
life  before. 

"Bears  over  there,  Auntie  Opal,"  teased  Janice 
in  her  most  wheedling  tone. 

But  for  once  Opal  refused  to  gratify  them,  and 
stood  listening  unhappily  to  the  music  at  some 
distance  from  her  family. 

As  the  band  played,  it  irritated  Opal  to  hear 
the  people  laughing  and  chattering  about  her. 
She  looked  up  at  the  tree- tops,  deeply  green 
against  the  blue  sky,  and  it  seemed  as  if  this 
were  a  bit  of  the  world  of  beauty  that  she 
longed  for.  When  she  glanced  back  at  her 
mother's  care-worn  face  it  was  lighted  with  an 
eager  appreciation  of  the  music,  pathetic  in  its 
intensity;  and  her  father's  face  was  strangely 
softened. 

And  suddenly  Opal  was  no  longer  ashamed 
of  her  father  and  mother;  she  felt  humble  and 
unworthy  of  them.  Their  faithful,  hard-working 
lives  seemed  all  at  once  vital  with  the  severe 
beauty  of  tasks  well  done  and  the  burden  of 
living  never  shirked.  Opal,  with  her  smattering 

212 


OPAL 

of  culture,  had  fancied  herself  immeasurably 
more  sensitive  and  refined  than  they.  But  she 
now  saw  herself  as  selfish  in  belittling  her  own 
folks  constantly,  and  in  weakly  clinging  to  the 
memory  of  Sefton  Woods.  She  felt  that  her 
mother  was  right — she  had  no  pride! 

While  the  music  was  rousing  her  unhappy 
young  soul  from  its  lethargy,  Janice  pulled  at 
Opal's  dress,  and  whispered:  "Seftie  Woods  is 
comin',"  sure  that  this  would  be  welcome  news. 

With  painful  embarrassment,  Opal  glanced 
down  at  the  twins,  and  unconsciously  clasped 
their  small  hands  closer,  till  they  looked  up  at 
her  wonderingly,  but  with  perfect  trust;  then 
she  lifted  her  head  proudly  and  faced  Sefton 
Woods  with  a  new  light  in  her  eyes,  a  defiance 
of  him  and  his  neglect  that  burned  with  her 
awakened  loyalty  to  her  own  family.  And  as 
if  this  chance  meeting  were  too  momentous  for 
words,  neither  of  them  spoke,  though  the  crowd 
seemed  to  fade  away  and  leave  them  alone. 

And  Sefton  Woods,  his  eyes  holding  a  chal- 
lenge that  Opal  did  not  understand,  lifted  his 
hat  with  the  very  serious  dignity  of  the  very 
young,  whose  heartaches  stir  such  unexpected 
depths  in  their  partially  explored  young  souls, 
and  left  the  park. 

213 


OPAL 

Opal,  withdrawing  herself  from  him  in  spirit, 
turned  to  the  twins  with  unselfish  devotion,  no 
longer  ashamed  of  their  stuffy  woolen  dresses  and 
impossible  purple-bordered  handkerchiefs. 

Then  the  music  ceased.  The  babble  of  the 
crowd  arose  with  louder  insistence.  And  the 
great  oaks  had  already  begun  to  send  their  long 
shadows  across  the  noisy  ravine. 

"Them's  bears  there,"  timidly  hinted  Jasper. 

"Aunt  Opal,  she  won't  show  us  bears,  Japper," 
Janice  plaintively  informed  her  little  brother. 

"Why,  of  course  I  will,"  promised  Opal, 
readily. 

"Land!  I  dunno  when  I  ever  spent  a  happier 
day,"  cried  Ma  at  supper-time,  when  Opal  came 
with  the  twins  where  the  table-cloth  was  spread 
on  the  grass  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  park. 
"Havin'  a  good  time,  Opal  ?" 

"The  twins  are,"  answered  Opal,  indirectly. 

"Jule,  you  oughter  take  more  care  of  your 
twinses,"  said  Ma ;  ' '  Opal  ought  not  to  be  hooked 
onto  'em  every  blessed  minute — it's  her  outin'." 

"If  Opal  don't  want  'em  hangin'  onto  her  all 
the  time,  she's  at  liberty  to  cuff  'em,"  returned 
Jule. 

"Supper's  on  the  table-cloth,  everybody  set 
up — or  down,"  ordered  Ma.  "It's  generally 
214 


OPAL 

supposed  to  be  a  man's  duty  to  hack  up  the 
cooked  hens ;  but  I  know  Pa  'd  make  a  mess  of 
it  afore  he'd  clawed  'em  apart,  so  I'm  goin'  to 
do  it  myself,"  stated  Ma,  energetically.  "I  sup- 
pose there  oughter  be  some  sort  of  order  to 
distribute  the  truck;  but  we'll  be  as  unformal  as 
possible,  'cause  we're  all  as  hungry  as  owls." 

Pa  Flickinger  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief;  the  vic- 
tories of  the  carver  held  no  fascinations  for  him. 

"Music  always  makes  me  hungry,"  stated 
Mandy,  sentimentally. 

"Then  I  guess  you  ain't  hungry  often,"  ob- 
served Jule. 

"Freeze  onto  this  here  chicken  bone,  Jule,  and 
let  that  shut  your  mouth,"  admonished  her 
mother. 

"Patriotic  music  for  me  every  time,"  claimed 
Pa,  enthusiastically. 

"Me,  too,"  agreed  Ma;  "I  don't  know  what's 
more  upliftin'  than  to  think  of  your  country 
onct  in  a  while." 

On  each  side  of  Opal  sat  a  twin,  and,  under 
cover  of  helping  them,  Opal  ate  very  little.  But 
she  was  so  busy  with  the  twins  and  seemed  so 
cheerful,  and  her  cheeks  burned  so  brightly  red, 
that  Ma  Flickinger  was  sure  that  her  youngest 
daughter  was  having  a  good  time. 
215 


OPAL 

"I  got  to  thinkin'  of  my  old  dad  who  was  in 
the  war,  durin'  the  music,"  said  Pa. 

"War  ain't  the  hardest  lot  that  can  fall  to  a 
man,"  broke  in  Fanner,  reminiscently,  "there 
was  Rutmiensyer  up  in  Klondike — " 

"Mebbe  not,"  interrupted  Ma,  quickly,  who 
disliked  the  story  of  Rutmiensyer,  handing 
Fanner  the  back  of  a  chicken,  "but  nothin's 
honorabler." 

"Not  all  this?"  politely  refused  Fanner. 
"What  do  you  expect  me  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"Take  along,  William,  you  know  what  to  do 
with  it,"  cried  Ma,  hospitably. 

"I  didn't  git  a  chanct  to  go  to  war,  and  I 
always  thought  I  was  cheated  out'n  being  a 
soldier.  I  know  I've  got  it  in  me,"  declared  Pa. 

"Shucks,  Pa,"  laughed  his  wife  in  open  de- 
rision, "you'd  shy  at  a  pop-gun." 

"'Nother  pickle,"  ordered  Pa. 

"Pickles  taste  good,  Pa;  but  they're  treacher- 
ous things,"  warned  Ma. 

"Reach  me  a  radish,"  commanded  Mandy. 

"Dast  you  tackle  another?"  cried  Ma,  solici- 
tously. "Mandy  always  was  a  radish  pig,"  she 
told  the  others. 

"That  there  last  onion  is  mine,"  announced 
Jule,  making  a  dive  for  it. 
216 


OPAL 

*'  Onions  never  hurt  nobody  yit,"  assured  Ma, 
thus  giving  the  remaining  onion  a  certificate  of 
good  character. 

"I  forgot  somethin',"  mumbled  Fanner,  when 
the  meal  was  nearly  finished,  and,  hastily  rising, 
disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  eating-house. 

"What's  got  into  Fanner?"  Jule  demanded  of 
Mandy. 

"Search  me,"  answered  easy  Mandy,  shaking 
her  head. 

"Mebbe  he  dropped  his  handkercher,"  sug- 
gested Ma. 

"When  did  William  ever  carry  a  handker- 
cher?" demanded  Mandy,  as  if  voicing  a  particu- 
lar grievance  against  her  husband. 

But  Fanner  soon  returned,  carrying  choicely 
a  paper  package. 

"It's  ice-cream  cones!"  screamed  Jule,  ecstati- 
cally. "Oh,  goody!" 

' '  No, ' '  denied  Ma ; ' '  that's  too  good  to  be  true !' ' 

"I  thought  it  would  cool  us  off,"  Fanner 
apologized  for  his  generosity.  "Ma  Flickinger, 
will  you  see  to  the  handin'  of  'em  out,  first 
reservin'  one  for  yourself?" 

"I  should  say  I  would,"  promised  Ma,  heartily; 
"but  I  dunno  as  the  twinses  oughter  have  any," 
she  added,  prudently. 

217 


OPAL 

"Shucks!  Ma,"  exclaimed  Jule,  "cones  is  only 
froze  milk." 

"Everybody  stop  gabblin'  and  listen  to  me," 
shouted  Pa  in  a  genial,  holiday  voice,  then -he 
continued,  using  what  he  supposed  to  be  pure 
dictionary  words : 

"Flickinger's  folks,  herein  assembled,  I  pro- 
pose to  give  our  Ma  a  risin'  vote  of  thanks  for 
this  here  supper  and  the  adjoinin'  good  time." 

"Second  it,"  spoke  up  Fanner  in  a  gruff  parlia- 
mentary voice. 

"Here,  too,"  added  Milo,  informally. 

"Shut  up,  all  of  you,"  snapped  Ma,  though  Pa 
could  see  that  she  was  mightily  pleased,  "and 
save  your  breath  to  git  transfers  out'n  the  con- 
ductors on  the  way  home." 

"If  anybody  gits  a  risin'  vote  of  thanks,  why 
not  William  and  his  cones  ?"  demanded  Jule. 

"I  propose  that  the  risin'  vote  of  thanks  be 
considered  as  includin'  William  Panner  and  his 
ice-cream  cones,"  said  Ma,  elegantly. 

"Carried,"  declared  Pa,  "and  we'll  also  con- 
sider the  risin'  vote  as  havin'  been  taken,  'cause 
none  of  us  is  particularly  keen  on  get  tin'  up 
right  now."  And  the  picnic  party  was  twice  as 
jolly  afterward  because  of  Pa's  gallantry  and 
Ma's  generous  amendment. 


IX 

FLOWER     IN     BLOOM 

"  1~)A>  ain't  you  noticed  nothin'  queer  about 
Opal  lately?"  asked  Ma,  several  weeks 
after  the  outing  at  Zion  Park,  as  she 
mended  industriously  on  the  coarse  garments 
that  overflowed  her  work-basket.  She  sat  be- 
side the  kitchen  table,  and  a  very  small  kerosene 
lamp  gave  a  clear  light  through  a  clean  chimney. 

"Naw,"  grunted  Pa,  and  continued  to  pick 
with  patient  bungling  fingers  for  a  supposed 
brier  in  his  finger,  though  he  could  not  see  it. 

"Then  it's  because  you  ain't  got  no  intrust — 
'cause  she's  changed.  Land!  I  dunno  what  to 
make  of  it!" 

Pa  said  nothing,  he  was  growing  tired  of  his 
wife's  constant  nagging  about  Opal ;  but  he  was 
surprised  when  she  said :  "I  dunno  what  to  make 
of  her — she's  gettin'  so  good  lately — not  wishie- 
washie,  but  downright  good  for  somethin'." 

"This  must  be  better  oil  than  usual,"  remarked 
219 


OPAL 

Pa,  referring  to  the  bright  light,  and  not  anxious 
to  talk  any  more  about  Opal. 

"Oil  nothin',"  returned  Ma;  "it's  Opal,  she 
shined  up  the  lamp  chimbley — and  that's  only 
one  of  the  things  she's  done." 

"Opal  always  was  a  good  girl  to  work,"  said 
Pa. 

"Yes,  but  since  she's  graduated  she's  had  such 
a  lot  of  queer  notions  in  her  head  about  doin' 
things  in  a  new  way,  somethin'  that's  more 
stylish  and  triflin'.  But  she's  changed.  Now 
she  jest  seems  anxious  to  help  me,  and  she's 
willin'  to  do  everything  my  way.  And  I  ain't 
caught  her  onct  mopin'  by  herself." 

"Well,  what's  wrong  with  that?" 

"Nothin',  I  hope.  And  I've  actually  heard 
her  singin'  'round  jest  like  she  ust  to.  It's  sur- 
prisin'  how  many  steps  she  saves  me. 

"And  her  actions  is  makin'  me  nervous,  and 
a-worryin'  me.  For  I  don't  know  whether  she's 
a-bein'  good  on  purpose  and  it's  all  put  on,  or 
whether  she's  gettin'  over  her  spunk  about  Sef 
Woods.  I  dunno  whether  to  scold  her  or  to 
leave  her  alone.  What  say,  Pa?" 

"I  say,  leave  her  be,"  said  Pa,  emphatically. 

"But  suppose  she's  jest  puttin'  on  all  this 
for  effect?"  asked  her  mother,  anxiously. 

220 


OPAL 

"What  if  she  is?"  cried  Pa,  irritably ;  "ain't 
it  better  to  have  her  pertendin'  to  feel  good 
even  if  she  don't — than  to  have  her  actin'  like  the 
old  scratch  and  meanin'  it  ?  Leave  the  girl  be, 
Ma.  You've  been  watchin'  her  too  long." 

"And  whatever  ails  her  it  was  the  outin'  that 
done  it,"  declared  Ma;  "she's  been  different 
ever  since  that  outin'  at  Weston  Springs." 

"You  mean  Zion,"  blandly  corrected  Pa. 

"Well,  it's  all  the  same  place — pretty  nigh. 
It's  a-eatin'  chicken  meat  outdoors  that  chirked 
her  up — I  knew  it  would." 

But  it  was  not  the  chicken  meat  that  had 
changed  Opal.  She  had  come  to  see  that  she 
was  selfish  in  childishly  asking  for  love  and  in 
thinking  very  little  about  giving  it  to  others, 
with  the  exception  of  Sefton  Woods.  And  she 
stopped  criticising  her  parents,  and  no  longer 
looked  to  them  for  the  satisfaction  and  guidance 
which  even  in  their  wisest  and  kindest  moments 
they  never  quite  gave.  For  Opal  had  come  to 
that  forlorn  cross-roads  in  life  where  many  a  child 
has  first  learned  with  bitterness  that,  because  of 
some  lack  of  wisdom  or  understanding  in  his 
parents,  he  must  now  begin  to  do  his  own  think- 
ing and  choose  his  own  way. 

She  no  longer  allowed  her  mind  to  dwell  on 

15  221 


OPAL 

Sefton  Woods;  but  put  all  her  energies  into 
doing  her  commonplace  duties  well.  And  as 
the  days  passed  the  routine  grew  a  little  easier. 
And  the  dignity  that  comes  from  suppressed 
complaints,  and  that  attends  helpfulness  to 
others,  Opal  slowly  attained.  She  no  longer 
tried  to  better  the  condition  of  her  family  by 
telling  them  untactfully  of  their  faults ;  but  she 
became  a  silent,  but  none  the  less  real  refining, 
influence  in  her  home. 

Ma  Flickinger  responded  as  readily  and  as 
unconsciously  to  Opal's  changed  attitude  as  if 
she  had  been  a  stunted  flower  turning  toward 
the  sun.  If  Ma  could  not  work  intelligently  for 
harmony,  she  could  reflect  the  harmony  of  Opal's 
life.  And  Pa  Flickinger,  who  was  like  a  living 
barometer,  touchily  susceptible  to  domestic  dis- 
turbances, flourished  openly  in  the  general  con- 
tent. Even  Jed  grew  less  taciturn,  and  occa- 
sionally gratified  his  mother  by  volunteering 
information  about  his  farming. 

Ma  Flickinger,  gradually  realizing  that  Opal 
was  different,  finally  began  to  wonder  about  it; 
but  as  Pa  wisely  advised  her  to  let  the  girl  alone, 
she  did,  and  at  length  concluded  that  Opal  was 
forgetting  Sefton  Woods.  And  nothing  made 
Ma  happier  than  to  see  Opal,  on  the  long  summer 


OPAL 

afternoons  when  the  work  was  done,  studying 
the  difficult  lessons  in  grammar  or  puzzling  over 
the  arithmetic.  Then  Ma's  satisfaction  was 
complete,  she  was  sure  Opal  was  going  to  teach 
and  "be  somebody." 

That  Opal  had  absolutely  no  life  outside  her 
own  home,  that  she  was  preparing  to  do  work 
for  which  she  had  no  aptitude,  and  that  conning 
over  dry  text-books  on  sultry  afternoons  was 
not  all  the  diversion  that  a  young  girl  needed, 
never  once  occurred  to  Ma  Flickinger. 

"Opal,"  shrilled  her  mother  one  day  after 
dinner,  "there's  somebody  comin'  up  the  walk, 
and  we  look  like  a  pig-pen.  What  '11  we  do? 
It's  somebody  stylish,  comin'  to  call  on  you." 

"Maybe  it's  just  an  agent,"  encouraged  Opal, 
who,  with  a  pile  of  books  beside  her,  was  studying 
as  usual. 

"No,  she  ain't  a-carryin'  nothin'.  It's  com- 
pany. The  land  knows  who,  from  the  land 
knows  where!  Nobody  that  I  ever  sot  eyes  on 
afore;  but  style;  don't  say  nothin'!" 

"Perhaps  she  only  wants  to  inquire  where 
somebody  lives,"  encouraged  Opal. 

"I've  a-sinkin'  that  she's  a-comin'  here. 
There — she's  a-rappin'  jest  like  she  was  sure  we 
wanted  to  see  her.  For  a  penny  we'd  keep  mum 
223 


OPAL 

and  leave  her  rap  till  doomsday — what  say, 
Opal?" 

But  Opal  was  already  at  the  door,  cordially 
welcoming  the  obnoxiously  stylish  lady. 

"Come,  Ma,  it's  just  Fairy  Jones,"  Opal 
assured  her  mother. 

"Land  o'  Livin'!"  exclaimed  Ma,  when  she 
beheld  Fairy,  who  had  lived  neighbor  to  them 
on  Loretta  Avenue. 

"I  told  my  Ma  that  I  bet  you'd  have  a  fit  at 
seein'  me,"  giggled  Fairy,  delighted  at  the  im- 
pression she  had  made.  "Ain't  I  the  swellest 
yit  ?  It's  my  new  white  dress — made  long — and 
my  pomp,  and  rats,  and  high  heels.  Lookie!" 
And  Fairy  flirted  her  head  and  spread  out  her 
skirts  before  the  astonished  eyes  of  Mrs.  Flick- 
inger  and  Opal. 

For  Fairy  Jones,  whose  mother  had  for  several 
years  persisted  in  dressing  her  too  young  for  her 
age,  was  no  longer  a  little  girl  with  abbreviated 
skirts,  lanky  legs  and  arms,  and  a  brushy  mop 
of  red  hair  down  her  back.  But  Fairy  was  now 
clothed  as  a  young  lady  in  a  new,  well-fitting 
gown.  Her  hair  was  drawn  back  from  her  fair, 
freckled  forehead  in  an  immense  brick-colored 
roll  that  was  carried  around  her  head  like  a 
circular  embankment,  with  a  hard,  shiny  mound 
224 


OPAL 

on  top,  from  which  flapped  several  gigantic 
white  ribbon  bows  like  flags  of  truce.  And 
Fairy's  heart  danced  with  joy  at  this  trans- 
formation. 

' '  I  must  say,  Fairy,  that  your  Ma  shows  sense 
in  so  doin'  you  up,"  approved  Opal's  mother. 

"Nobody  can  call  me  daddy  longlegs  now," 
declared  Fairy,  complacently. 

"Nobody  ever  did  but  Little  Butch  Fanner," 
reminded  Opal. 

"And  he  oughter  been  cuffed,"  said  his 
grandmother. 

"He  did  it  jest  for  a  josh,"  allowed  Fairy, 
generously. 

"Josh  or  no  josh — 'twa'n't  a  very  pretty 
name,"  declared  Ma. 

"I  come  over,  Opal,  to  git  you  to  go  to  St.  Joe 
with  me  this  afternoon,  'cause  there  wa'n't  any- 
body else  I  could  git,"  announced  Fairy,  frankly ; 
"Ma's  busy,  and  I'm  mad  at  Fern  Bis  tie,  and  I 
won't  have  none  of  the  little  kids  on  our  street 
taggin'  after  me." 

"Why  not  go,  Opal?"  put  in  Ma,  quickly; 
"then  you  could  visit  the  school  commissioner 
and  find  out  where  there  was  a  vacant  school. 
Opal's  goin'  to  teach  this  fall,"  she  proudly  in- 
formed Fairy. 

225 


OPAL 

"I  know  it,"  said  Fairy.  "I  heard  it  at  the 
grocery  store.  Come  on,  Opal,  it  '11  be  fun  to 
visit  the  commissioner.  I'll  go  with  you." 

"But  I  dread  so  to  go  to  his  office,"  demurred 
Opal. 

"Why?"  demanded  her  mother. 

"He's  so  dignified — all  the  girls  are  afraid  of 
him." 

"To  my  mind  that's  a  p'int  in  his  favor," 
praised  Ma. 

"Is  he  married?"  inquired  Fairy  Jones, greed- 
ily. 

"Yes,  he  is,"  answered  Ma,  shortly;  "and  I'm 
glad  of  it.  I  never  met  him  myself;  but  Mis' 
Bistle  has,  and  she  says  he's  got  a  grand  education 
and  that  he  looks  like  a  governor  ought  to." 

"That's  it,"  cried  Opal;  "I'm  afraid  I  won't 
know  what  to  say!" 

"Shucks!"  exclaimed  her  mother;  "if  you 
can't  find  words  at  first,  remember  there's  always 
the  weather  to  talk  about.  And,  Opal,  I'll  betche 
you'll  like  him,  they  say  he's  a  lovely  man," 
encouraged  Ma. 

"Who's  afraid  of  a  man?"  demanded  Fairy. 

"Nobody  oughter  be,"  responded  Ma.  "And, 
Opal,  jest  ast  him  where  all  the  vacant  schools 
is ;  how  you  git  out  to  'em ;  who  the  officers  be, 
226 


OPAL 

and  which  one  is  most  liable  to  take  a  shine  to 
you;  and  when  the  teachers'  examination  is." 

"But  that's  so  much  to  remember,"  dissented 
Opal.  "Besides,  I  may  not  get  a  certificate." 

"A  high-school  graduate  can  always  pick  up 
a  stiff  cut,"  stated  Ma,  confidently.  "And  tell 
him  you're  a  graduate  or  any  other  old  thing 
about  your  education  you  think  he  oughter 
know,"  she  continued,  unmoved  by  Opal's  ob- 
jections; "but  not  in  a  swelled-headed  way, 
remember,"  she  cautioned.  "And  don't  do 
not h in'  unladylike;  but  try  to  git  on  the  good 
side  of  the  commissioner  if  you  can.  If  he  is  a 
tumble  educated  party  he  ain't  no  more'n 
human." 

"You'll  go,  won't  you,  Opal?"  teased  Fairy. 

"Yes,  if  Ma  thinks  I'd  better,"  said  Opal,  with 
a  sigh. 

"Of  course  you'll  go,"  declared  Ma,  energeti- 
cally. "And  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  bit,  Opal, 
but  what  the  commissioner  '11  be  so  smit  with 
your  bein'  a  graduate  and  the  way  you  tackle 
him  that  he'll  hand  you  out  a  neat  little  school 
to-day;  and  if  he  does,  don't,  for  the  land  sakes, 
forgit  to  say,  'Thank  you  kindly,  sir,'  for  I  hate 
them  shut-mouthed  folks  that  takes  everything 
for  granted.  It  looks  tight." 
227 


OPAL 

"And  Opal  can  wear  the  new  white  togs  that 
she  had  made  for  the  picnic  that  Seftie  Woods 
was  a-goin'  to  take  her  to — and  then  didn't, 
can't  she?"  said  Fairy,  who  knew  all  the  gossip 
of  the  neighborhood. 

"Jest  the  thing,"  agreed  Ma.  "Opal's  never 
had  'em  on  since  that  mornin'  she  set  'round  all 
primped  up  a-waitin'  for  Seftie  to  come.  Why 
don't  you  go  and  dress,  Opal,  what  're  you  hangin' 
'round  here  for?"  she  added, sharply. 

Dispiritedly  Opal  went  up-stairs  to  do  her 
mother's  bidding.  And  as  she  took  her  pretty 
white  dress,  which  had  never  been  worn  away 
from  home,  and  her  dainty  white  hat  and  long 
gloves  from  the  closet,  a  wave  of  homesickness 
for  the  happy  times  with  Sefton  Woods  passed 
over  her.  And  the  memory  of  that  picnic  morn- 
ing when  the  roses  were  beginning  to  bloom, 
came  poignantly  back  to  her  as  she  dressed; 
but  she  put  the  thought  resolutely  away  and 
went  down-stairs. 

"Gee!  what  lovely  togs,"  exclaimed  Fairy, 
with  hearty  admiration.  ' '  I  heard  at  the  grocery 
store  that  your  Pa  said  you  looked  jest  like  a 
bride  in  'em." 

"How  on  earth  does  such  a  personal  thing  as 
that  git  loose  in  the  grocery  store  ?"  flared  Ma. 
228 


OPAL 

"Mrs.  Flickinger,  you  can  search  me,"  returned 
Fairy,  solemnly,  "but  them  was  the  identical 
words  that  was  said  there.  But  probably  Seftie 
and  Opal  '11  make  up  yit,"  she  added,  hopefully. 
"  Seftie 's  a  awful  nice  boy." 

"Probably  they  won't,"  denied  Ma,  shortly; 
"and  Opal  Flickinger  knows  it.  And  I'd  'a' 
give  Seftie  Woods  the  go-by  for  Opal  myself,  if 
he  hadn't  got  ahead  of  me — I  never  did  want  him 
here;  but  he  couldn't  seem  to  see  it." 

"And  Little  Butch  Fanner  is  tumble  mad  at 
Seftie,  too,"  contributed  Fairy,  "'cause  Seftie 
stopped  Butch's  scarin'  us  with  a  snake  onct." 

"Butch  is  always  a-makin'  trouble  some- 
wheres,"  complained  Ma. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Butch  lately?"  Fairy 
wanted  to  know. 

"Yes,  we  have,"  Ma  told  her.  "Butch,  he 
thought  it  was  cute  to  run  away  from  home ;  but 
he  soon  got  tired  of  it  and  begged  his  Pa  to  send 
for  him  to  come  back.  But  William  Panner  he 
writ  Butch  a  real  upliftin'  letter,  tellin*  him  to 
stick  by  his  job  and  a  man  never  regrets  it,  which 
made  Butch  so  spunky  that  he  sent  a  postal 
sayin'  he  was  mad  at  his  Pa  and  had  left  the 
thrashin' -machine  and  was  goin'  where  gold  is. 
And  we  dunno  whether  it's  Alasky  or  Californy." 
229 


OPAL 

"Then  mebbe  we'll  never  see  him  ag'in," 
said  Fairy,  so  dolefully  that  Ma  immediately  took 
offence. 

' '  I  know  you  always  stuck  up  for  Butch ;  but 
you  can  see  now  that  he  never  had  no  feelin's 
for  nobody." 

"But  a  boy  like  Butch  don't  like  to  show  his 
most  intermut  feelin's — even  if  he's  got  'em, 
Mrs.  Flickinger,"  defended  Fairy. 

"You  might  say  that  of  Opal's  brother  Jed — 
he's  a  gump  with  a  good-sized  orgin  for  a  heart ; 
but  Butch  jest  naturally  ain't  got  no  signs  of 
an  orgin  at  all.  He's  all  heels  and  holler,  as  his 
grandpa  says,  and  when  I  add  stummic — there 
you  have  Butch 's  aughterbiography — all  there 
is  to  him." 

"And  Butch's  Pa's  sick.  Say,  Mrs.  Flickinger, 
do  you  know  that  Big  Butch  Fanner's  sick?" 
demanded  Fairy,  instantly  alert  to  tell  a  piece 
of  news. 

"Yes,  William's  sprained  his  foot,  and,  be- 
sides, he's  worried  hisself  into  a  fever  over  Little 
Butch.  He  needs  the  boy  at  home  the  worst 
kind  of  a  way  now,  but  he  can't  git  word  to  him. 
And  I  dunno  as  Butch  'd  come  home  if  he  knowed 
his  Pa  was  sick,  such  is  his  ornery  make-up. 
And  it  seems  all  the  worse  to  me  'cause  Butch 
230 


OPAL 

uster  be  here  about  half  his  time ;  and  I  kinder 
miss  the  little  pest  myself,  I  don't  care  if  he  is 
as  disagreeable  as  tunket.  But  his  Ma's  spoilt 
him." 

"Is  Butch's  father  worse  to-day  ?"  asked  Opal, 
for  Fairy  was  a  near  neighbor  of  Fanner's. 

"Yes,  he  is.  Mrs.  Fanner  said  his  symptoms 
hadn't  changed  but  they  was  all  agger vated," 
informed  Fairy,  who  dearly  loved  to  talk  about 
sicknesses. 

"Of  course  they  are,"  put  in  Ma,  gloomily. 
"William's  a-worryin'  his  head  off  about  his 
boy." 

"Butch  wrote  to  me  onct,  and  he  seemed 
kinder  homesick — in  his  letter,"  related  Fairy. 

"Yes — in  his  letter — "echoed  Ma,  significantly ; 
"he  jest  wanted  your  sympathy;  it's  the  baby 
a-showin'  out  in  Butch.  And  now,  girls,  go  on. 
And,  Opal,  be  sure  to  call  on  the  commissioner. 
Don't  you  dast  to  sneak  out  of  it!  And  don't 
stay  after  you  git  through;  the  commissioner's 
a  busy  man — or  oughter  be,"  corrected  Ma, 
remembering  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  habits 
of  that  exalted  personage  except  by  hearsay. 

"I'll  betche  it  won't  be  hard  for  Opal  to  git  a 
school,"  prophesied  Fairy,  generously. 

"Of  course  it  won't,"  responded  Ma.  "Land! 
231 


OPAL 

% 

it's  the  dream  of  my  life  to  see  Opal  a  school- 
teacher •  teachin'  beats  gettin'  married  all  holler." 

"And  Butch  wrote  me  that  Seftie  Woods  was 
ridin'  up  there  where  he's  a-workin'  with  Jane 
Feathers,"  related  Fairy,  not  willing  to  start  as 
long  as  there  was  a  crumb  of  gossip  to  impart. 

"I  pity  Jane,"  was  Ma's  only  remark. 

"But  how  Seftie  Woods  could  go  back  on 
Opal,  and  her  a  high-school  graduate  and  such  a 
lovely  girl,  gits  me,"  sympathized  Fairy.  "But 
I'll  betche  somebody  set  him  up." 

"Don't  you  think  it!"  disagreed  Ma.  "Opal's 
jest  found  him  out,  and  it  '11  be  Jane  What's- 
Her-Name's  turn  next.  And  now,  girls,  git 
a-goin'.  Opal,"  she  yelled,  as  they  started  down 
the  walk,  "remember  to  introduce  Fairy  to 
the  commissioner,  she's  old  enough  to  be  made 
known;  you  mustn't  let  him  git  the  idee  that 
you're  woodsy!  Why,  I'm  tickled  to  death  to 
think  that  you're  actually  goin'  for  a  school," 
exulted  her  mother. 

"And  this  here  school-teachin  '11  put  an  end  to 
all  foolishness  about-  Seftie  Woods — or  any  other 
beau,"  she  thought  complacently,  then  she  added 
generously:  "Have  a  good  time,  girls,  and  git  a 
nice-cream  cone  if  you  seem  to  need  it;  but  I'd 
leave  sodie-water  alone,  it's  treacherous  stuff." 
232 


OPAL 

"Gee!  but  it  hurts  to  hobble  along  on  these 
high  heels,"  Fairy  confided  to  Opal;  "but look 
how  swell  they  be." 

Opal  dreaded  the  visit  to  the  school  com- 
missioner, for  she  feared  that  he  might  find  her 
a  school;  and  she  was  so  depressed  that  she  did 
not  feel  like  talking.  But  Fairy  Jones,  who  was 
having  a  very  good  time,  did  not  notice  Opal's 
silence.  And  Opal,  scarcely  hearing  what  Fairy 
said,  could  not  help  but  think  how  delightful 
it  would  be  if  she  were  really  going  some- 
where with  some  one  that  she  cared  to  be 
with. 

' '  Here's  the  court-house  where  the  school  com- 
missioner's office  is  at,"  announced  Fairy,  when 
they  reached  St.  Joe;  "but  let's  go  to  the  Lake 
Front.  It  '11  be  a  longer  ride.  And  we  can  come 
back  here  any  old  time.  I  want  to  go  down  to 
Silver  Beach  first." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Opal,  glad  of  a  little 
respite  from  the  dreaded  visit  to  the  school  com- 
missioner who  looked  like  a  governor  ought  to. 

"The  interm&an  car's  jest  in.  Gee,  but  it's 
big  and  yallow!"  admired  Fairy,  devouring  it 
with  her  bulging,  light  blue  eyes;  "and  chuck- 
full  of  folks.  We'll  watch  'em  git  off,"  she  an- 
nounced, as  she  and  Opal  left  the  street-car; 
233 


OPAL 

"mebbe  there  '11  be  somebody  on  the  intermfran 
we  know." 

Opal,  glancing  carelessly  at'  the  large  yellow 
car,  was  astonished  to  see  a  strangely  familiar 
figure  swing  down  the  steps  with  as  bored  an  air 
of  foreign  travel  as  ever  a  cosmopolitan  felt  or 
assumed. 

It  was  Little  Butch  Fanner.  But  he  was 
wonderfully  metamorphosed.  For  Butch,  who 
had  been  a  blundering,  overgrown  boy  when  he 
ran  away  from  home,  now  posed  as  a  full-fledged 
young  man.  He  wore  an  ultra-fashionable 
green  hat.  His  formless  chin  was  upheld  by  a 
very  Chinese  Wall  of  white  collar.  His  suit  was 
a  turbid  tan,  and  an  aggressive  brick-red  necktie 
flapped  brilliant  ends,  while  his  feet  were  encased 
in  offensively  yellow  shoes.  There  was  nothing 
left  about  Butch  to  tell  the  story  of  his  for- 
mer hoodlumship  except  an  old  gray  canvas 
satchel,  which'  now  bulged  with  his  discarded 
clothes. 

But,  as  if  this  were  not  sufficiently  surprising 
to  Opal,  behind  him  came,  handsome  and  eager, 
Butch's  old  enemy,  Sefton  Woods,  upon  whom 
Butch  had  vowed  to  be  avenged. 

Opal  was  so  confused  that  she  would  have 
turned  aside  and  escaped  their  notice;  but  not 
234 


OPAL 

so  Fairy  Jones,  who  joyfully  hailed  Butch  and 
Sefton. 

"Why,  Miss  Jones!"  exclaimed  Sefton  Woods, 
too  taken  aback  by  the  grown-upness  of  Fairy 
to  remember  her  first  name. 

"Glad  to  meet  you  ag'in,  Miss  Jones,"  followed 
up  Butch,  politely,  which  was  probably  the  first 
civil  remark  that  he  had  ever  addressed  to  Fairy. 
Then  he  dropped  his  satchel  and  grabbed  Opal 
by  both  hands,  inquiring  heartily,  "Where  you 
been  keepin'  yourself,  Old  Girl?"  as  if  it  were 
Opal  and  not  himself  who  had  run  away.  "Gee, 
but  your  white  duds  is  swell !  How's  Gramma  ?" 

"Your  grandmother  is  well;  but  oh,  Butch, 
your  father  is  sick." 

"I  know,"  answered  Butch,  soberly.  "Sef 
Woods,  here,  he  told  me.  Opal,  why  don't  you 
shake  hands  with  Sef?  You  used  to  be  so  tur- 
rible  thick." 

"She  hasn't  had  a  chance  yet,"  said  Sefton 
Woods,  offering  his  hand  to  Opal  with  a  smiling 
cordiality  that  she  would  have  given  much  to 
have  properly  resented.  But  she  found  herself 
greeting  him  with  a  responsive  smile  of  welcome. 

"Ain't  Pa  no  better?"  burst  out  Butch,  as 
Sefton  tried  to  talk  to  Opal. 

"No,  Butch,  he's  worse."  Opal  felt  very 
235 


OPAL 

severe  with  him.  "We  thought  you  had  gone 
West.  Why  didn't  you  stick  to  your  work  as 
your  father  wanted  you  to?  Oh,  Butch,  how 
can  you  act  so?" 

"Thrashin'-  machine's  busted,"  said  Butch, 
importantly;  "nobody  can't  work  till  a  new 
piece  gits  here  from  New  York." 

"When  are  you  goin'  West,  Butchie?"  ques- 
tioned Fairy;  "say,  how  much  '11  it  cost  you?" 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  West,"  grinned  Butch;  "I'm 
a-comin'  home  to  visit  the  folks  till  the  machine 
gits  mended." 

"Then  what  did  you  write  you  was  for?" 
demanded  Fairy;  "a-scarin'  everybody  into 
fits." 

"I  was  a-goin'  West  when  I  first  got  Pa's 
letter;  but  Jake  Friday,  you  know,  the  feller  I 
work  for,  he  got  onto  it.  And  he  don't  care 
what  he  does  to  you,"  said  Butch,  reminiscently, 
rubbing  a  long  scratch  on  his  nose.  "Then  I  got 
to  thinkin'  Pa's  letter  over,  and  I  stayed  by  the 
machine." 

"Butch  has  enlightened  me  about  certain 
things  concerning  Old  Willie  Briggs,"  said  Sefton, 
eagerly,  as  if  anxious  to  explain  his  neglect. 

Opal,  listening  with  averted  face,  did  not  en- 
courage him  to  go  on,  having  firmly  decided  that 
236 


OPAL 

she  did  not  care  for  a  reconciliation.  And  the 
lonely  weeks  that  she  had  waited  for  Sefton  to 
return  now  rose  grimly  before  her,  and  she  would 
not  look  at  him. 

But  Fairy  Jones  struck  in,  greedy  to  talk,  "I 
knowed  you  was  set  up,  Mr.  Woods,  everybody 
said  so  at  the  store.  Nobody  blamed  you  nor 
Opal  either  for  the  go-by." 

"  Twa'n't  a  real  lemon  that  Seftie  handed  you, 
Opal,"  declared  Butch,  earnestly. 

"But  what  about  Jane  Feather?"  Fairy  in- 
stantly asked. 

"Oh,  Jane's  just  Seftie 's  cousin,"  explained 
Butch.  "I  put  that  in  my  letter  to  scare 
Opal." 

"I  don't  see,  Butchie,  how  they'd  leave  you 
work  on  the  thrashin' -machine  when  you  ain't 
any  older  than  you  be,"  said  Fairy,  reverting  to 
Butch 's  affairs. 

"I  told  'em  I  was  a-goin'  to  be  twenty-one," 
explained  Butch,  with  a  sly  grin.  "Besides,  I'm 
big  enough." 

"What  makes  your  grip  so  heavy  ?"  demanded 
Fairy,  lifting  it  to  feel  of  its  bulging  sides  with 
open  curiosity. 

"Boots,"  stated  Butch,  briefly. 

"Aw,  more'n  that,"  declared  Fairy. 
16  237 


OPAL 

"Arrer-heads  and  stones  from  St.  Joe  river," 
added  Butch,  with  an  uneasy  glance  at  a  reced- 
ing street-car. 

"  Butch 's  bringing  some  of  the  country  back 
with  him,"  explained  Sefton  Woods. 

"That's  right,  Sef,"  allowed  Butch,  resting 
one  great  red  hand  familiarly  on  Sefton  Woods' 
shoulder.  Opal,  remembering  Butch's  many 
threats  against  Sefton,  was  mystified. 

"Are  we  all  a-goin'  to  stand  here  till  dooms- 
day?" demanded  Fairy.  "Me  and  Opal  was 
a-goin'  to  Silver  Beach;  would  you  gentlemen 
wish  to  go  along?" 

"I'd  ruther  see  my  Pa  first,"  answered  Butch, 
wistfully. 

"Why,  Silver  Beach  we  can  go  to  any  old 
time,"  broke  in  Fairy,  generously.  "Come  on, 
Butchie,  let's  go  home,  here's  a  Pipestone  Street 
car,"  and  Fairy  caught  hold  of  Butch's  arm. 

' '  Do  you  suppose  Pa  '11  let  me  work  in  the  meat 
market — after  you  know  what,  Opal?"  asked 
Butch,  anxiously. 

' '  Yes,  Butchie,  he'll  be  glad  to  have  you.  And 
remember  and  go  in  quiet,"  cautioned  Opal, 
"because  your  father  is  sick." 

She  saw  a  sudden  mist  pass  over  the  boy's 
eyes  at  the  mention  of  his  sick  father-  but  he 
238 


OPAL 

mopped  his  face  ostentatiously  with  a  dingy 
white  handkerchief  with  a  glaring,  checkered 
green  border,  and  said  swaggeringly,  "I  suppose 
the  first  thing  Pa  '11  feel  like  doin'  when  he  sees 
me  will  be  to  lam  me  for  runnin'  away.  But 
such  is  life!  So  long,  folks.  See  you  ag'in,  Sef." 

"We'll  haft  to  hustle  if  we  git  this  car, 
Butchie,"  warned  Fairy,  jerking  him  by  the  arm. 

"Why,  Fairy,  aren't  you  going  to  stay  and  go 
home  with  me  ? ' '  remonstrated  Opal .  ' '  We  came 
together,"  she  explained  to  Sefton  Woods. 

"Land,  Opal,  ain't  you  bright?  Would  I 
hang  around  after  you  know  who's  come  ?"  called 
back  generous  Fairy. 

And  the  last  they  saw  of  Butch  and  Fairy  that 
day  was  the  back  of  Butch's  green  hat,  for  his 
face  was  set  unwaveringly  toward  home,  and  the 
fluttering  flags  of  truce  on  Fairy's  red  head. 

' '  I  must  go  with  them, ' '  Opal  told  Sefton.  ' '  I 
don't  know  why  I  didn't  think  of  it  in  the  first 
place.  Oh  yes,  there  was  something  my  mother 
wanted  me  to  do  in  St.  Joe ;  but  I  can't  remem- 
ber what  it  was." 

But  the  bell  rang  warningly,  and  Opal  had 
not  time  to  reach  the  car. 

"Then  I  shall  take  the  next  car,"  said  Opal, 
with  dignity. 

239 


OPAL 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish,"  agreed  Sefton  Woods ; 
"but  first  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you, 
Opal.  Have  you  blamed  me  for  this  long  sep- 
aration?" 

She  could  not  answer;  but  as  she  looked  at 
him  now  that  they  were  alone,  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  face  that  she  had  not  seen  there 
before — it  was  the  pain  of  their  estrangement 
that  spoke  with  insistent  pleading. 

"There  are  too  many  people  here,"  he  said; 
"shall  we  walk  down  the  park?  You  can  take 
the  car  from  Main  Street  just  as  well." 

Opal  had  thought  many  times  just  what  she 
would  say  to  Sefton  Woods  if  he  ever  returned 
to  her.  She  had  said  over  and  over  again  a 
little  set  speech  in  which  she  was  to  dismiss 
him  forever ;  but  now  as  they  walked  under  the 
arching  elms,  she  could  not  remember  one  word 
of  it. 

And  the  farther  they  went  the  more  beautiful 
the  way  grew.  The  strip  of  green  on  the  lake 
bluff  was  a  magic  garden,  whose  beds  of  gerani- 
ums glowed  with  a  mysterious  flush.  The  elms 
held  high  above  them  a  gracious  roof,  made  of  the 
living  green  of  fluttering  leaves  and  the  blue  of 
heaven  itself.  The  path,  stretching  straight 
ahead,  dappled  with  sun  and  shadow,  was  a 
240 


OPAL 

precious  mosaic  prophetically  symbolic  of  life. 
And  the  great  lake  seemed  intimate  and  near, 
its  sky-line  no  longer  vexing  Opal  with  its  sug- 
gestion of  the  unattainable. 

When  at  last  he  spoke  to  her,  and  would  have 
explained  what  had  kept  him  away,  Opal,  who 
had  been  so  long  and  so  painfully  trying  to  ad- 
just herself  to  his  absence,  was  conscious  only 
that  he,  too,  had  been  unhappy,  and  she  said: 
"Oh,  Sefton,  please  don't  tell  me,  I  don't  want 
to  know;  it  was  just  some  mistake." 

They  did  not  take  the  first  car  home.  Many 
cars  came  and  went  while  Sefton  and  Opal 
wandered  into  the  country.  The  road  that  they 
followed  would  have  seemed  very  ordinary  and 
commonplace  to  the  unprejudiced  observer, 
but  to  them  it  was  the  veritable  path  to  their 
hearts'  desire.  And  the  dusty  green  of  the 
trees,  and  the  ragged  plumes  of  the  goldenrod, 
were  touched  with  a  radiant  beauty. 

That  her  mother  was  sure  to  object,  that  she 
ought  to  visit  the  commissioner  and  inquire 
about  a  school,  never  once  occurred  to  Opal. 
That  there  would  ever  be  any  anxiety  or  trouble 
in  the  future  she  could  not  foresee.  The  flower 
of  love,  which  had  budded  under  such  untoward 
circumstances  as  her  mother's  disapproval  and 
241 


OPAL 

Sefton's  seeming  neglect,  had  bloomed  this 
wonderful  afternoon  into  a  perfect  flower.  For 
Opal  and  Sefton  had  arrived  at  the  beatific 
understanding  that  nothing  should  ever  part 
them  again. 


X 

MIS'     HI     LUNDY'S     SCHOOL 

M\  FLICKINGER  was  dishing  up  the  fru- 
gal supper  with  a  sort  of  triumphal  dex- 
terity, compounded  partially  of  joy  at  the 
return  of  Little  Butch,  and  partially  of  pleasure 
at  other  news  that  she  was  withholding  to  im- 
part to  her  family  when  they  were  once  seated 
at  the  table. 

But  Pa  and  Jed  took  their  places  without 
noticing  either  Ma's  excitement  or  the  unusually 
red  cheeks  of  Opal,  who  had  just  returned  from 
St.  Joe. 

When  Pa  began  to  eat,  however,  he  glanced 
up  at  his  daughter.  "Where's  Opal  been  that 
she's  lookin'  so  happified?"  he  demanded  of  his 
wife.  For,  with  the  Flickingers,  to  go  somewhere 
was  equivalent  to  happiness. 

"Opal's  been  to  St.  Joe  to  see  the  school  com- 
missioner about  teachin'  this  fall.  But  I've 
got  something  else  to  tell  everybody,"  cried  Ma, 
343 


OPAL 

excitedly.  "And  I'll  betche  Opal  '11  look  happier 
than  she  does  now  when  she  knows  what  it  is. 
Besides,  who  do  you  suppose  is  raised  from  the 
dead?" 

"I  ain't  up  on  Bible  characters,"  said  Jed, 
indifferently. 

"Tain't  no  Bible  character,"  laughed  Ma. 
"And  it  give  me  a  tumble  turn  when  I  heard 
it  at  the  store.  Little  Butch's  back!" 

"Oh,  I  hear  that  afore  I  got  here,"  said  Pa. 
"Besides,  I've  been  expectin'  him  'most  any  old 
day.  But  I'm  glad  for  Fanner's  sake  that  the 
little  plague's  home." 

"But  it's  a  wonder  he  stuck  it  out  as  long  as 
he  did,"  added  Jed. 

"Didn't  see  your  feller  in  St.  Joe,  did  you?" 
Pa  asked  Opal,  facetiously. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  answered  Opal,  unexpectedly. 

"Which  one?"  inquired  Jed,  carelessly. 

"Sefton  Woods,"  said  Opal,  triumphantly. 

"What!"  shouted  Jed,  staring  at  his  sister. 
And  a  curious  expression  of  satisfaction,  which 
he  tried  unsuccessfully  to  turn  into  a  scowl, 
overspread  his  face. 

Pa  Flickinger  was  openly  smiling,  for  the  news 
was  not  unpleasant  to  him. 

"Seftie  Woods!"  screamed  Opal's  mother. 
244 


OPAL 

"If  you've  saw  that  there  fool-killer  ag'in,  don't 
mention  it  to  me." 

"But  I  did  see  him,"  continued  Opal,  boldly 
for  her ;  ' '  and  we  walked  in  the  park  and — ' ' 

"Hurray!"  exulted  Pa,  softly,  to  the  butter- 
dish, as  he  cut  himself  an  immense  slab  of  butter 
on  the  strength  of  this  information.  It  he  had 
ever  blamed  the  "durned,  hand-painted  chromo," 
as  he  had  once  called  Sefton  Woods,  for  neglect- 
ing Opal,  he  now  forgot  all  that  in  his  joy  at 
their  reconciliation.  "Then  it's  sure  enough 
go-by  for  Mr.  Willie  Hop-toad  now,"  he  added, 
complacently. 

"Willie  Briggs  never  had  the  ghost  of  a  chance 
with  Opal,"  declared  Jed. 

"And  now  everybody  shut  hisself  right  up 
about  Seftie  Woods  or  Willie  Briggs,  either," 
ordered  Ma,  "and  listen  to  my  grand  news." 

"But,  Ma,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you" 
spoke  up  Opal,  boldly. 

Her  mother  broke  in  quickly.  "What'd  the 
school  commissioner  say?  I'll  bet  you  never 
went  nigh  him  when  you  was  in  St.  Joe." 

"I  didn't  have — time,"  faltered  Opal,  then 
she  added,  honestly,  "and  I  forgot  all  about  it." 

"Well,  never  mind,  now,  you  can  see  him  later 
if  need  be,"  said  her  mother,  unexpectedly 
245 


OPAL 

lenient.  "But  listen  to  me,  folks,"  and  Ma's 
face  glowed  with  pleasure  and  excitement: 
"Opal's  gotta  school." 

Opal's  heart  almost  stood  still  with  dismay, 
and  her  cheeks  grew  white.  Pa  and  Jed  stopped 
eating  and  stared  at  Ma. 

"Yes,  Opal's  gotta  bid  to  teach  out  in  the 
country  near  Twelve  Corners.  Mis'  Bistle's 
sister,  Mis'  Hi  Lundy,  was  down  this  afternoon, 
and  she's  anxious  for  Opal  to  teach  her  school." 

"Is  Mis'  Hi  Lundy  the  hull  thing?"  demanded 
Jed,  ungraciously. 

"Mis'  Lundy  simply  represents  her  husband, 
who  is  director  of  the  school  district,"  Ma 
elegantly  informed  him;  "and  she  knows  what 
she's  about." 

All  the  old  unrest  and  anxiety  that  Opal  had 
thought  buried  forever  came  back,  blotting  out 
her  afternoon's  happiness  with  Sefton  Woods. 
"I  don't  believe  I'll  take  the  school,  Ma,"  she 
faltered,  her  courage  oozing  out  even  as  she  spoke 
under  the  grim  disapproval  of  her  mother. 

Pa  Flickinger  drank  his  tea  with  noisy  unction, 
pleased  to  see  Opal  showing  so  much  spirit. 

"You  will,  too,  teach,"  glared  her  mother. 

"But  Sefton — he  doesn't  want  me  to — and 
we  — "  but  Opal  could  go  no  further  in  the 
246 


OPAL 

uncongenial   atmosphere   of   her  mother's  dis- 
pleasure. 

"Of  course,"  broke  in  Ma  in  an  awful  voice, 
"we're  all  a-dyin'  to  have  our  work  cut  out  for 
us  by  Sef  Woods,  he's  such  a  clost  friend  of  ourn ; 
he's  always  been  so  thoughtful  and  intermut 
and  land  that  he  oughter  put  his  blab  in  when- 
ever there's  anything  to  decide  in  the  Flickinger 
family." 

"But  you  don't  understand,"  contended  Opal, 
almost  crying. 

"Yes,  I  do,  too,  understand,"  affirmed  her 
mother,  grimly.  "He  give  you  the  go-by  onct, 
and  now  after  weeks  of  snubbin'  you  let  him 
run  after  you — or  probably  you  run  after  him," 
she  added,  cruelly.  "You're  crazier  after  the 
boys  than  Fern  Bistle,  and  I  can't  say  more." 

"But,  Ma,  listen — "  entreated  Opal,  tearfully, 
"Sef tie  and  I—" 

"Shut  right  up,"  ordered  her  mother,  sternly. 
"Pa,  ain't  you  ashamed  to  have  a  girl  like  Opal ? 
If  you  ain't,  you  oughter  be." 

"But  if  Sef  tie  and  Opal's  made  up — "  began 
Pa  in  a  conciliatory  voice. 

"Made  what  up?"  demanded  Ma. 

"Their    little    squabble — whatever    it    was; 
'wa'n't  none  of  our  affair." 
247 


OPAL 

"There  wa'n't  no  squabble,  it  was  jest  plain 
go-by — or  lemon,  as  it's  stylish  to  call  it  nowa- 
days," Ma  told  him.  "And  it  is,  too,  our  affair. 
Opal  sha'n't  never  speak  to  Seftie  Woods  ag'in. 
She's  goin'  to  teach  school ;  and  Mr.  Hi  Lundy's 
goin'  to  stop  in  here  on  his  way  to  town  Saturday 
with  the  contract,  and  Opal's  goin'  to  sign  it." 

"But  I  promised  Sefton  to  ask  you — "  began 
Opal. 

' '  Don't  lug  in  that  there  great  lummox's  name 
ag'in,"  broke  in  her  mother,  angrily.  "He's  a 
two-faced  feller.  Besides,  he's  treated  our  Jed- 
die  like  a  dog.  First,  he  made  the  world  and  all 
of  Jed,  then  he  cut  him  altogether." 

"He  never  done  me  no  harm,"  spoke  up  Jed, 
heatedly.  "If  Seftie  and  Opal  want  to  make  it 
up  now,  it's  nobody  else's  business." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  added  Pa,  quickly. 

"Seftie  has  asked  me  to  marry  him,"  informed 
Opal,  getting  out  the  worst  in  the  face  of  her 
mother's  opposition  because  of  her  father's  and 
Jed's  sympathy.  ' '  And  he  has  given  me  a  ring. ' ' 
And  on  her  finger  there  glowed  a  little  sphere 
of  opal,  set  in  a  chased  band  of  solid  gold.  As 
she  held  up  her  hand  to  show  them  the  ring,  the 
stone  changed  from  rose  and  emerald  to  violet 
and  then  to  a  milky  pearl. 
248 


OPAL 

Jed's  eyes  were  fascinated  by  the  first  jewel 
that  had  ever  been  brought  into  the  house  by 
a  Flickinger.  And  Pa  could  only  ejaculate: 
"Gee!"  and  kept  on  repeating,  "Well,  gee! 
Sef tie's  certainly  made  good!  Oh,  gee!" 

' '  Lemme  see  it, "  cried  Ma.  ' '  You  ought  never 
to  have  took  such  a  valuable  thing  from  a  young 
man.  How  much  did  it  cost  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Opal,  with  un- 
conscious dignity. 

"It's  a  precious  stone,"  cried  Ma,  shrilly. 
"And  it  must  'a'  cost  a  small  fortune.  And  you 
never  oughter  'a'  took  it.  It's  wicked  to  wear 
such  expensive  things,"  she  concluded,  forcibly. 

"It  'd  be  wicked  not  to  wear  it,  if  I  had  one  to 
wear,"  said  Pa,  his  eyes  gloating  on  the  changing 
beauty  of  the  jewel. 

"  When'd  he  buy  it  ?"  Ma  wanted  to  know. 

"He  bought  it  the  day  before  the  picnic  at 
Berrien  Springs,"  answered  Opal. 

"But  I  suppose  Sef  tie  forgot  to  explain  why 
he  never  come  nigh  you  that  day,"  remarked 
Ma,  cuttingly. 

Opal  looked  confused.  Sef  ton  had  begun  to 
explain,  but  she  had  begged  him  not  to.  Now 
she  realized  that  her  mother  would  never  under- 
stand how  she  felt  about  it.  "He  doesn't  need 
249 


OPAL 

to  explain  to.  me,"  she  said  finally,  feeling  how 
useless  it  would  be  to  try  to  make  her  mother 
see  from  any  other  point  of  view  but  her  own. 

"That's  right,"  affirmed  Jed,  quickly. 

"And  I  promised  Sefton  I  would  marry  him — 
we  can't  break  it  off  now.  We  feel  that  it  was 
meant  to  be  this  way,"  added  Opal,  with  the  un- 
conscious fatalism  of  the  young. 

"No  pride,  no  lemon,  no  nothin',"  Ma  broke 
out,  with  tragic  emphasis.  "It's  them  black 
eyes  and  that  takin'  smile  of  his'n,"  she  scolded; 
"though  I  should  prefer  an  innocent  face  like 
Willie  Briggs's  every  time." 

"Sef tie's  eyes  are  not  black,"  stated  Jed, 
belligerently,  "they're  a  dark  gray." 

"Be  they  black  or  gray  or  pink  or  green, 
they're  no  account  and  snoopy,"  cried  Ma, 
violently.  "Nothin'  back  of  'em." 

"Seftie  can't  help  how  he  looks,"  defended  Pa. 

"He  can't  help  the  color  of  his  eyes;  but  he 
can  help  how  he  looks  out'n  'em,"  differentiated 
Ma,  "and  he  looks  s-m-o-o-t-h." 

"But  Jed  trusts  Seftie,"  put  in  Opal. 

"Jed,"  echoed  Ma,  scornfully.     "What  does 

a  green  gump  like  Jed  with  his  nose  always  in 

his  crops  know  about  human  character?    And 

you  needn't  think,  neither,  Opal,  that  you're 

250 


OPAL 

a-goin'  to  streak  off  and  meet  Seftie  on  the  sly 
jest  'cause  Pa  and  Jed  stick  up  for  you.  Opal, 
take  some  more  'tatoes;  you  ain't  eatin'  nothin'. 
You  don't  want  to  lose  your  appetite  jest  as 
you're  gettin'  ready  to  teach  school." 

"I  don't  see  how  Mrs.  Hi  Lundy,  or  anybody 
else,  can  hire  a  teacher  all  alone,"  grumbled  Jed. 

"It's  like  this,"  enlightened  Ma:  "Last  year 
Arlene  Meaker,  who  lives  in  the  district,  taught. 
And  she  was  ha'sh.  Corporal  punishment  ain't 
as  fashionable  as  it  uster  be;  and  she  thrashed 
little  Parker  Lundy  fearful.  And  Mis'  Lundy, 
she  says  that  Arlene  Meaker  can't  never  have  the 
school  ag'in.  And  the  other  officers  always 
votes  accordin'  to  Mr.  Lundy,  so  Opal's  sure  of 
the  school." 

"But  Opal  don't  want  to  butt  into  Miss 
Meaker's  school, ' '  protested  Pa.  ' '  If  Miss  Meaker 
give  good  satisfaction  last  year  she  oughter  have 
it  ag'in." 

"But  that's  jest  it,"  she  didn't  give  good  satis- 
faction, she  give  pretty  bad  satisfaction,"  in- 
formed Ma,  heatedly.  "And  Mis'  Lundy,  she 
says  Parker  is  a  sensitive  child,  and  she  won't 
have  him  touched  with  a  whip,  cause  it  makes 
his  eyes  twitch.  And  I  told  her  that  Opal  was 
much  obliged  to  her,  and  would  do  all  she  could 
251 


OPAL 

to  git  the  school;  and  Mis'  Lundy,  she  says  it 
wa'n't  a  case  of  doin'  all  she  could,  but  jest  of 
sayin'  she'd  take  it,  and  she  wisht  Opal  was 
here  to  give  her  word." 

"Suppose  Opal  fails  to  get  a  teacher's  certif- 
icate," suggested  Jed. 

"A  high-school  graduate  can't  fail,"  asserted 
Ma,  stubbornly. 

"Aw,  shucks!  She  stands  about  one  chance 
in  five  hundred,"  disparaged  Jed.  "Opal  hasn't 
had  some  of  those  studies  for  five  years." 

"If  I  wa'n't  supe  of  my  part  of  the  factory," 
broke  in  Pa,  "there  might  be  some  talk  of  her 
teachin';  but  I've  got  enough  for  Opal  to  eat 
and  wear,  even  if  it  ain't  so  swell ;  and  we've  got 
our  own  home,  such  as  it  is;  and  I'd  rttther 
the  girl  wouldn't  teach." 

"And  Opal  won't  want  to  teach  if  she  marries 
Seftie,"  stated  Jed,  aggressively. 

"Land  o'  Goshen,  Jed,  shut  up;  here  you 
are  makin'  everything  disagreeable  ag'in.  And, 
Opal,  take  that  ring  right  straight  off'n  your 
finger." 

"It's  Opal's  ring,"  spoke  up  Jed. 

"Give  the  thing  to  me,"  commanded  Ma, 
sternly,  speaking  as  if  this  beautiful  symbol  of 
their  engagement  were  possessed  of  an  evil 
252 


OPAL 

potency.  "And,  Jed  Flickinger,  you'll  please 
to  keep  your  blab  out'n  Opal's  affairs." 

Opal  slowly  took  off  the  ring,  and  when  she 
unwillingly  handed  it  to  her  mother,  she  seemed 
to  part  with  the  last  vestige  of  her  happiness. 

"It  certainly  ain't  the  worst  thing  I  ever  saw," 
Ma  was  forced  to  admit,  as  she  took  the  ring. 

Jed  rose  from  the  table  and  lighted  the  lamp, 
for  it  had  grown  dark  as  they  talked.  And  when 
the  beauty  of  the  ring  flashed  for  the  first  time 
upon  Ma,  she  turned  it  over  and  over,  fascinated 
by  its  changing  colors.  "What  kind  of  a  stone 
is  it?"  she  asked. 

"It's  an  opal,"  her  daughter  told  her. 

"Then  it's  a  unlucky  stone,"  declared  Ma. 

"It's  unlucky  for  the  feller  that  ain't  got  one," 
cried  Pa. 

"I'm  goin'  to  take  it  right  over  for  Billie  and 
Sophie  to  see,"  said  Ma,  rising  from  the  table. 

But  Jed  stepped  quickly  toward  her.  "Give 
it  here,  Ma,"  he  said,  with  sudden  sternness, 
"it's  Opal's  ring." 

Meekly  Ma  handed  the  ring  to  Jed,  who  gave 
it  to  Opal,  with  a  whispered  injunction  to  put 
it  on,  which  their  mother  did  not  hear. 

"I  dunno  what  you'll  do  with  the  ring  to- 
night , ' '  worried  Ma ;  "  it '  s  a  tumble  responsibility 

17  253 


OPAL 

— a  sneak-thief  could  come  in  and  carry  it  off 
jest  as  easy  as  not ;  best  hide  it  in  the  clothes- 
basket.  That's  where  Aunt  Pike  always  hid 
her  valuables,  and  nothin'  was  ever  stole,  either. 
I  won't  rest  easy  till  the  thing's  out'n  the  house. 
Opal,  you'll  return  it  as  soon  as  possible." 

But  Opal  did  not  hide  the  ring  that  night,  she 
put  it  on  her  finger. 

"I  wonder  what  next  '11  come  up,"  fretted  Ma. 

"You  can't  keep  young  folks  from  sparkin' 
by  shoo  tin'  off  your  mouth,  though,"  grumbled 
Opal's  father;  but  he  was  careful  not  to  make 
this  remark  till  he  was  safely  out  of  the  house. 

The  next  evening  Jed  called  Opal  into  the 
little  front  room  and  then  closed  the  door. 
"Opal,"  he  questioned,  anxiously,  "what 're  you 
goin'  to  do  about  Seftie?" 

' '  I  shall  write  him  that  Ma  wants  me  to  teach 
school,  and  that  she  won't  let  me  marry  him 
now,  and  maybe  never.  And  then  I'll  work 
for  the  certificate — I  can't  make  it  seem  right 
to  do  anything  else." 

"But  how  about  your  ring?" 

"Why,  I'll  keep  it,  of  course — he  gave  it  to 
me;    I  can't  help  what  Ma  says  about  it — it's 
mine.     But  I'll  put  the  ring  away  as  long  as  Ma 
doesn't  want  me  to  wear  it." 
?54 


OPAL 

"Why  don't  you  tell  Ma  right  straight  out 
that  you  won't  do  as  she  says?" 

"I  did  think  of  it  at  first,  and  I  tried  to;  but 
it  made  me  so  unhappy  that  I'm  going  to  try 
to  do  as  she  says ;  for  Ma's  worked  hard  to  send 
me  to  high  school.  And  I'm  only  eighteen. 
Maybe  after  a  while  she'll  feel  different.  And  do 
you  think,  Jed,  that  I  should  have  made  Seftie 
tell  me  why  he  stopped  coming  here?" 

"No,"  answered  Jed,  emphatically;  "what's 
the  use  of  living  if  you  can't  trust  folks?  I'd 
'a'  done  the  same  thing.  I  don't  suppose  Seftie 
— he  said  anything — about  me,  did  he?" 

"No,  Jed,  we  never  once  spoke  of  you — you 
know  we  hadn't  been  together  for  so  long;  but 
I  know  it's  just  some  mistake  that  separates 
you." 

"Well,  never  mind  that  now,"  sighed  Jed. 
"And  don't  mind  Ma  too  much,  either;  you  know 
she's  always  a-stirrin'  things  up.  And  cheer  up, 
Opal,  you  won't  git  a  certificate,  so  that  '11  settle 
your  teachin'  this  year." 

"But  I  might,"  feared  Opal.  "And  I'll  have 
to  study  just  as  hard  as  if  I  wanted  it." 

"Quarrellin'  ag'in,"  cried  their  mother,  who 
had  heard  their  voices,  and  now  stuck  her  head 
in  at  the  door.  "It  does  seem  to  me,  Jed, 
255 


OPAL 

that  you're  old  enough  not  to  pick  on  your 

sister." 

"We  were  just  talking  about  my  teaching 
school,"  explained  Opal. 

"But  I  heard  Jed  say  that  you  wouldn't  git 
a  stiffcut — that  shows  which  way  the  wind 
blows." 

"Opal  started  it,"  grinned  Jed,  who  saw  that 
his  mother  was  bound  to  believe  that  they  had 
been  quarrelling. 

"Don't,  Jed,"  reproved  his  sister. 

"Pa,  listen  to  them  two  grown-ups  a-quarrel- 
lin'  like  four-year-olds,"  disapproved  Ma. 

"Leave  'em  scrap,  for  all  of  me,"  said  Pa, 
mildly,  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  evening 
paper. 

Opal,  who  always  did  Mandy's  sewing,  finished 
her  studying  early  the  next  day  and  then  went 
over  to  Mandy's  to  work.  It  was  late  in  the 
summer,  and  the  rain,  which  was  falling  steadily, 
made  it  seem  like  autumn.  Opal  found  Mandy, 
as  usual,  in  a  voluble  mood. 

"Where's  your  ring?"  demanded  Mandy,  even 
before  Opal  had  begun  to  sew. 

"I  don't  wear  it,"  answered  Opal. 

"But  what's  the  good  of  a  ring  like  his'n  if  it 
256 


OPAL 

can't  be  worn?    It  wouldn't  hurt  Ma  none  jest 
to  let  you  and  the  Woods  boy  be  engaged." 

"But  she  doesn't  think  that  way." 

"And  this  here  rain  must  make  you  bluer 
than  ever;  I'm  so  sensitive  that  it  deprusses  me 
turribly,"  complained  Mandy. 

"And  how  is  Little  Butch  doing?"  asked  Opal, 
desiring  to  change  the  subject. 

"He's  drivin'  the  meat  wagon  as  steady  as  a 
old  man,"  praised  Mandy,  reviving  at  the  men- 
tion of  her  pet's  name.  "And  Butch's  comin' 
home  has  chirked  William  up  so  he's  a  new  man. 
He  went  limpin'  down  to  the  shop  this  mornin' 
with  a  cane,  spite  of  all  I  could  say." 

"I  seen  your  feller  to-day,  Opal,"  announced 
Butch,  importantly,  bursting  into  the  house  at 
dinner-time,  and  throwing  down  his  dripping 
umbrella  on  the  littered,  cotton-ingrain  carpet. 

"You  did?"  said  Opal,  seeing  that  Butch 
expected  her  to  make  a  remark. 

"Yep,  and  I  told  him  you  was  to  our  house, 
and  he  says,  'Was  you?'  and  I  says,  'Yep.'" 
And  Butch  felt  that  he  had  done  Opal  an  in- 
estimable service  by  repeating  this  conversation. 

"And  so  you  and  Seftie  have  made  up,"  said 
William  Fanner,  kindly,  to  Opal,  as  he  followed 
his  son  into  the  room. 

257 


OPAL 

"And  much  good  that  does  him  or  her," 
fretted  Mandy;  "Ma  won't  even  let  'em  look  at 
each  other." 

"Shoo!"  exclaimed  Fanner,  astonished,  as 
they  all  sat  down  to  dinner. 

"But  it  was  me  that  brung  'em  together  ag'in," 
contributed  Butch,  importantly,  submerging  a 
mountain  of  mashed  potatoes  and  cabbage  and 
ham  under  a  flood  of  gravy. 

"I  thought  you  were  angry  with  Seftie;  and 
I  was  surprised  to  see  you  together  that  day 
in  St.  Joe,"  Opal  told  him. 

"I  was  riled  at  him  awhile  back,"  admitted 
Butch.  "But  I'm  mad  at  Fern  Bistle  now. 
She  hissed  me  on  to  play  a  josh  on  Seftie.  When 
I  was  comin'  home  from  thrashin'  I  saw  Seftie  on 
the  interurban,  and  I  says,  'Hello,  Sef,'  but  he 
answered  ruther  cool,  and  I  knowed  why;  so 
I  ups  and  tells  him  that  you  wa'n't  goin'  to  marry 
Willie  Briggs  at  all." 

"I  never  was,"  denied  Opal,  indignantly. 

"But  Seftie,  he  thought  you  was,  though," 
grinned  Butch. 

"He  never  could  have  believed  such  a  thing," 
cried  Opal,  incredulously. 

"Yes,  he  did,  too,"  assured  Butch,  importantly, 
"  'cause  jest  afore  the  Old  Folks's  Picnic  at  Ber- 
258 


OPAL 

rien  Springs,  I  told  Seftie  myself  that  you  was 
goin'  to  marry  Willie  Briggs.  You  know  Willie 
did  ast  you  to  marry  him,  one  evenin'  on  Gram- 
ma's porch.  And  Sef  Woods,  he  happened  to 
drive  by  when  Willie  was  holdin'  your  hand  and 
makin'  his  little  old  spiel,  with  the  street  lamp 
a-lightin'  you  both  up,  so  Sef,  he  thought  I  must 
be  tellin'  the  truth." 

"But  I  couldn't  help  how  Willie  acted," 
defended  Opal;  "he  would  do  it." 

' '  But  Sef,  he  didn't  know  the  diff .  And  Fern, 
she—" 

"I  don't  see  how  Fern  knew  anything  about 
it,"  said  Opal. 

"Why,  er— Fern,  she,"  stuttered  Butch,  "Fern, 
she  knowed  all  about  it.  Willie,  he  acted  so 
durn  funny  I  jest  had  to  tell  her.  She  was 
sweet  on  me  then.  And  she  said  we'd  play  a 
josh  on  Seftie,  so  I  could  git  even  with  him  for 
cuffin'  me  'round  that  day  I  scared  you  girls 
stiff  with  a  snake. 

"Fern,  she  wanted  Seftie  herself;  but  I  wa'n't 
on  to  it  then.  And  she  told  me  to  tell  Seftie 
that  you  couldn't  go  with  him  to  the  picnic  on 
account  of  unexpectedly  gettin'  engaged  to 
Willie;  but  that  if  he  still  considered  you  a 
friend — like  you  wanted  him  to — he'd  take  Fern 
259 


OPAL 

instead.    Seftie,  he  kicked  tumble  about  takin' 
Fern;  but  she  got  around  him  some  way." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  son,  that  you  told 
that  string  of  lies,  and  made  all  that  trouble 
for  Opal  and  Seftie?"  questioned  his  father, 
sternly. 

"Oh,  it  was  all  a  josh,  it's  all  right  now," 
assured  Butch,  easily. 

"But  a-comin'  between  two  honest  hearts," 
glared  Big  Butch  Fanner,  indignantly.  "And  how 
do  you  know  Willie  ast  Opal  to  marry  him?" 

"I  was  a-listenin'  behind  the  lilac  bush," 
acknowledged  Butch.  "But  Seftie  ain't  mad 
at  me,  we're  better  friends  than  ever,"  hastily 
reassured  Butch. 

"But  to  sneak  like  that,  and  then  to  lie  about 
it,"  groaned  Fanner. 

"It  was  jest  a  josh,  William;  Butchie  says  so 
hisself,"  Mandy  hastened  to  defend  her  son. 
"And  Seftie  oughter  be  the  best  judge  of  what 
harm's  done;  and  Seftie,  he  ain't  mad,"  she 
concluded,  triumphantly. 

"But  it  wasn't  true,  and  it  made  us  a  lot  of 
trouble,"  Opal  could  not  help  but  say. 

"Don't  be  so  thick-headed,  Opal,"  complained 
the  boy's  mother;   "ain't  Butchie  said,  over  and 
over  ag'in,  that  it  was  jest  a  josh?" 
260 


OPAL 

"Josh  nothin',"  struck  in  Fanner,  violently- 
"it  was  jest  a  common,  every-day  lie.  I  always 
told  you,  Mandy,  that  that  boy  would  lie,  but 
you  wouldn't  see  it." 

"It  was  Fern  Bistle  that  was  to  blame," 
declared  Butch;  "she  sicked  me  on,  she  did." 
But  his  "josh"  did  not  seem  so  funny  to  him 
now  as  it  had  at  first. 

"Ma  says  that  Fern's  always  a-makin*  trou- 
ble," broke  in  Mandy,  excitedly.  "Oh,  William, 
don't  be  ha'sh  with  Little  Butchie,  when  he's 
tryin'  so  hard  to  please  you  in  the  meat  market, 
or  he'll  run  away  from  home  ag'in.  You  always 
was  so  unreasonable  with  the  boy,"  and  she 
sniffed  loudly. 

"Never  mind  now,  Mandy,  it's  all  past,"  said 
Opal.  "And,  anyway,  I'm  glad  to  know  who 
made  the  trouble." 

"And  Sef  and  me  are  better  friends  than  ever," 
reiterated  Butch,  brightening.  "Besides,  Fern, 
she  said  a  lot  of  other  mean  things,  she  did." 

"Don't  repeat  'em,"  commanded  his  father. 

"But,  William — "  began  Mandy,  in  tears 
again. 

"Butch  can't  hide  from  me  behind  any  girl 
when  he's  done  wrong,"  declared  the  boy's 
father.  "And  to  think  that  our  little  lad's 
261 


OPAL 

made  all  this  trouble,"  he  continued,  gloomily. 
"Well,  I  dunno — I've  tried  to  make  a  man  of 
Butch,"  speaking  as  if  his  son  were  not  there, 
"but  what's  the  use?" 

Butch  looked  scared.  If  his  father  had 
threatened  to  thrash  him  he  would  have  been 
angry  and  stubborn;  and  now  when  he  was 
commencing  in  a  sort  of  rudimentary  way  to 
do  right,  to  have  him  talk  as  if  his  were  a  hope- 
less case,  made  Little  Butch,  for  once  in  his 
short  but  autocratic  career,  really  disturbed 
in  his  mind.  For  the  beginnings  of  a  conscience 
that  might  be  cultivated  were  appearing. 

"And  did  you  tell  Seftie  something  against 
Jed,  too?"  asked  Opal. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  dissented  Butch,  touchily; 
"I  ain't  no  liar.  But  Fern  did.  Fern,  she  said 
things  about  all  you  folks;  but,  Pa,  here,  he 
won't  let  me  say  nothin'.  And  Fern,  she  said  if 
I'd  tell  the  josh  about  you  and  Willie  to  Seftie 
that  she'd  leave  me  take  her  over  to  St.  Joe 
some  evenin';  and  then  when  I  wanted  to  go, 
she  give  me  the  bounce." 

"Fern,  she  ain't  got  no  honor  at  all,"  criti- 
cised Mandy. 

"That  boy  '11  have  to  suffer  for  all  this  rumpus 
he's  made,"  Fanner  told  Opal. 
262 


OPAL 

"But  Butch  didn't  realize  how  much  trouble 
would  come  of  it,  I'm  sure,"  said  Opal,  who 
saw  that  a  fierce  domestic  storm  was  brewing 
which  might  end  in  Butch's  running  away  from 
home  again;  "he  was  only  thoughtless,  and 
Fern  did  start  it.  Butch  'd  never  have  thought 
of  doing  such  a  thing  himself." 

"Hope  to  die,  she  started  it,"  agreed  Butch, 
tearfully,  reduced  to  a  mush  of  penitence  by 
Opal's  attitude  toward  him.  "Honest,  Pa, 
I  didn't  go  for  to  make  all  this  rumpus,"  he 
sniffed,  addressing  his  father,  before  whom  he 
was  anxious  to  appear  in  the  right.  "But  Fern 
Bistle,  she's  gotta  suffer  for  all  this,  she  has." 

"Don't  pick  a  quarrel  with  a  girl,  Butch; 
that  ain't  no  way  to  learn  to  be  a  man,"  ad- 
vised Fanner,  mollified  to  some  extent  by  the 
boy's  desire  to  please  him. 

"But  such  a  durned  girl  as  she  is!"  blamed 
Butch,  tearfully. 

"And  I'd  let  her  alone  after  this,"  advised 
Opal. 

"I  won't  speak  to  her,"  promised  Butch. 

" Oh,  I'd  speak  to  her, ' '  returned  Opal ;  ' ' what 
I  mean  is  that  I  wouldn't  give  her  another 
chance  to  get  you  into  trouble." 

"You  needn't  neither  speak  to  her 5  and  I 
263 


OPAL 

wouldn't  lower  myself  even  to  look  her  way," 
counselled  Mandy. 

"She  sicked  me  on,  she  did,"  reiterated 
Butch. 

"And  as  you  get  older,  Butch,  you  will  have 
more  sense  than  to  want  to  play  mean  jokes 
like  that,"  said  his  father. 

"That's  right,"  affirmed  Butch,  heartily; 
"when  I  was  a  kid  I  didn't  care  for  no  thin'." 

When  Butch  had  gone  back  to  work,  and 
Mandy  was  washing  the  dishes  in  the  kitchen, 
Fanner  lingered  in  the  sitting-room  to  speak 
to  Opal. 

"Mebbe,  Opal,  if  you  was  to  tell  your  Ma 
what  Butch's  done  she'd  leave  Seftie  come 
to  see  you  ag'in." 

"No,  that  wouldn't  make  any  difference." 

"Well,  anyway,  Opal,  don't  go  for  to  be  blue," 
said  Fanner,  kindly.  "Your  Ma,  Mrs.  Flick- 
inger,  is  one  of  earth's  finest  women;  but  it 
can't  be  hid  from  nobody  that  she  likes  to  run 
things.  And  while  I  think  you're  doin'  noble 
in  leavin'  your  young  man  strictly  alone  as 
long  as  she  wants  it  that  way,  still,  Opal,  my 
best  word  to  you  is,  'lay  low';  don't  cross  your 
Ma ;  but  don't  go  back  on  Seftie,  neither.  And 
who  knows?  w-h-o  k-n-o-w-s?"  repeated  Fanner, 
264 


OPAL 

slowly,  with  such  a  cumbrous  but  expressive 
wink  that  Opal  laughed  outright. 

On  her  way  home  from  Mandy's  that  after- 
noon, Opal  stopped  at  her  sister  Jule's  to  get  a 
pattern.  She  found  Jule,  sitting  by  the  rain- 
washed  little  window  in  the  kitchen,  preparing 
vegetables  for  supper.  Grandpa  Peebles  was 
near  by  mending  a  fish-net.  He  was  bent  and 
old,  but  his  thin,  knotted  hands  moved  among 
the  meshes  with  a  sure  touch.  The  twins  for 
once  were  not  visible. 

"Take  a  chair  and  set  awhile,"  invited  Jule 
when  she  had  found  the  pattern  and  resumed 
her  paring.  "I've  got  a  slick  scheme  worked 
out  for  you  and  Seftie,  Opal,"  she  informed  her 
sister,  diving  immediately  into  the  subject  that 
was  foremost  in  the  minds  of  all  the  Flickingers. 
"Ma's  too  hard  on  you.  But  you  can  come  over 
here  any  old  evenin',  and  I'll  send  word  for 
Seftie  to  come,  too;  and  you  can  have  the  loan 
of  my  front  room,  with  the  twinses  shut  out, 
for  Grandpaw's  jest  fixed  the  lock.  And  our 
Ma'll  never  know  the  diff." 

"But  I'd  have  to  tell  Ma  about  it." 

"Sometimes,  Opal,  I  can't  help  but  think 
that  you  ain't  very  bright,"  disapproved  Jule. 

"It's  kind  of  you  to  offer  me  the  room,  Jule; 
265 


OPAL 

but  it  wouldn't  be  right  for  me  to  come  that 
way." 

"The  trouble  with  you  is,  Opal,  that  you  lack 
backbone,"  criticised  Jule. 

"But  it  often  takes  more  backbone -not  to  do 
a  thing  than  it  does  to  do  it,"  spoke  up  Grandpa 
Peebles.  "Waitin'  quiet  like  always  takes 
more  grit  than  thrashin'  'round  and  makin' 
things  come  your  own  way." 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean,  Grandpaw," 
acknowledged  Jule;  "but  Opal's  gotta  think 
of  poor  Seftie.  He's  about  as  fur  gone  as  a 
feller  gits — nowadays — accordin'  to  Fairy  Jones. 
And  he's  such  a  pretty  boy,  too,  everybody 
likes  him.  And  he's  got  a  red-wheeled  horse 
and  buggy — think  of  that!" 

"Everybody  likes  him  but  Ma,"  qualified  Opal. 

"Shucks!  Ma  herself  likes  him  if  she'd  only 
own  up.  And,  Opal,  leave  me  give  you  some 
good  advice,"  said  Jule,  solemnly:  " Seftie  may 
git  tired  of  waitin'.  You  gotta  do  some  thin'  to 
keep  his  intrust  up." 

"I  guess  bein'  kept  from  seein'  Opal  '11  keep 
his  intrust  up  if  any  thing  would,"  said  Grandpa, 
dryly.  "And  Seftie  ain't  much  of  a  feller  if  he 
can't  wait  as  long  as  needs  be  for  a  girl  like  our 
Opal." 

266 


OPAL 

"Yes,  I  know,  it  ought  to  be  that  way," 
admitted  Jule;  then  added,  with  the  narrow 
wisdom  of  her  kind,  "but  where's  the  man 
that  can  be  scrouged  out'n  his  natural  affections 
and  not  turn  to  some  one  else?" 

"I  guess  Sef tie's  that  man,"  said  Grandpa. 

"You  jest  say  it  to  encourage  Opal,"  cried 
Jule.  And  Opal  would  have  gone  home  com- 
forted had  not  the  thought  of  Mis'  Hi  Lundy's 
school  lay  heavy  on  her  spirit;  for  that  very 
afternoon  Mr.  Lundy  was  expected  to  bring  the 
contract  for  her  to  sign. 

Ma  Flickinger  met  her  at  the  door  with  a 
bright  face.  "I've  been  a-plannin'  about  your 
havin'  some  stout  sateen  aprons  to  teach  in, 
somethin'  between  a  dish  apron  and  a  grocer's, 
that  '11  about  cover  you  up,"  she  said. 

"But  they  wouldn't  look  very  nice,"  pro- 
tested Opal. 

"Yes,  they  will,  too,  'cause  I'm  goin'  to 
brighten  'em  up  with  red  and  yallow  catstitch. 
Black  sateen  won't  show  the  ink ;  and  you  know, 
Opal,  in  a  country  school  it  pretty  nigh  always 
rains  ink.  And  you'll  want  a  gray  ladies'  cloth 
dress  that  won't  show  chalk;  for  the  only  way 
to  keep  clean  is  to  wear  things  that  don't  show 
the  dirt." 

267 


OPAL 

Now  the  teaching  seemed  inevitable;  and 
even  Grandpa  Peebles'  encouragement  and  Big 
Butch  Fanner's  prodigious  wink  were  forgotten. 
And  Opal  dared  not  tell  her  mother  the  truth 
about  Sefton,  fearing  that  it  would  prejudice 
her  against  him  more  than  ever. 

"Land!  here  we've  been  plannin'  out  every- 
thing so  scrumptious  that  I  clean  forgot  about 
Mr.  Hi  Lundy's  bringin'  you  the  contract  to 
sign  this  afternoon.  Let's  go  into  the  parlor 
and  see  where  he  can  write  it.  I  suppose  he'll 
come  even  if  it  does  rain,  'cause  it's  Satur- 
day. 

"Clear  off  the  centre  table,"  ordered  Ma,  as 
she  and  Opal  entered  the  room;  "take  off  the 
photograph  album ;  take  off  the  gilt  vase ;  take 
off  the  gift-book,  Heaven  Is  Our  Home ;  take  off 
the  cotton-flannel  Easter  rabbit ;  take  off  every- 
thing but  the  Bible,  which  11  look  as  if  it  was 
read  often;  and  set  the  pen  and  ink  careless 
like  on  the  table,  and  it's  all  ready." 

It  was  still  raining  an  hour  later  when  they 
sat  waiting  for  Mr.  Lundy.  And  the  prospect 
out  of  the  window  was  as  bleak  as  if  Pine  Street 
had  gone  into  mourning  especially  for  Opal. 
And  the  more  she  thought  of  the  school,  and  of 
trying  to  do  work  for  which  she  had  no  aptitude 
268 


OPAL 

and  but  little  preparation,  the  more  depressed 
she  grew. 

But  the  weeping  bushes  and  the  dripping  eves 
did  not  dampen  Ma  Flickinger's  ardor — she  was 
volubility  itself.  "I'll  betche  Mr.  Hi  Lundy's 
a  great  big,  fine-lookin'  man,"  she  imagined, 
"  'cause  his  wife's  so  stylish,  don't  you?" 

"I  never  thought,"  answered  Opal,  drearily. 

"And  now  you  can  see  how  nice  everything's 
turned  out,"  said  her  mother,  affably.  "You're 
goin'  to  have  a  neat  little  school  to  teach,  and 
that's  a  good  deal  better  than  gettin'  married. 
You  don't  want  to  marry  Seftie  Woods,  anyway, 
Opal,  'cause  he's  an  only  child — and  they're 
always  selfish.  And  his  Ma  might  be  pizen  to 
git  along  with;  I  never  met  Mis'  Woods,  but  I 
can  well  imagine  she's  finicky." 

As  the  rain  beat  insistently  on  the  window- 
panes,  a  slight  shuffling  was  heard  on  the  porch, 
and  Ma  Flickinger  hastened  eagerly  to  the  door 
and  opened  it.  She  was  confronted  by  a  thin, 
faded,  seedy-looking  little  man  in  a  limp  duster 
and  a  wilted  straw  hat. 

"We  don't  want  to  buy  no  thin'  to-day," 
began  Ma,  sharply,  using  her  invariable  formula 
with  agents. 

The  little  man  did  not  retreat,  however,  but 

18  269 


OPAL 

gloomily  volunteered :  "I  was  to  give  word  to  a 
Missus  Oval  Fleckenger." 

"Oh  yes,"  cried  Ma,  enlightened,  "you  mean 
Opal.  Be  you  Mr.  Hi  Lundy's  hired  man?" 

He  did  not  answer  her  question  directly,  but 
said:  "My  wife,  Missus  Lundy,  she  said  I  was 
to  stop  and  tell  Missus  Oval  that  Arlene  Meaker 
has  got  our  school,  on  account  of  Leander  Pone 
and  John  Plimmer  not  sayin'  nothin'  definite 
till  school  meetin'  night,  and  then  votin'  for 
Arlene.  And  my  wife,  she  thinks  probably 
Missus  Oval  wouldn't  give  satisfaction  to  the 
majority,  anyway,  not  havin'  had  no  experience." 

He  brightened  perceptibly  as  the  prospect  of 
finishing  his  errand  drew  near,  and  added,  almost 
cheerfully,  as  he  backed  off  the  porch,  "Ours 
is  ruther  a  hard  school  for  a  new  beginner,  any- 
way; good-day." 

And  before  Opal's  mother  could  collect  her 
wits  to  speak  to  him,  Mr.  Hi  Lundy  was  gone, 
vanishing  into  the  rain  and  mist,  with  only  a 
pair  of  hastening  legs  visible  under  a  no-colored 
umbrella. 


XI 

PA,     THE     DIPLOMAT 

THOUGH  Pa  Flickinger,  being  superintend- 
ent, might  go  home  early  from  the  fac- 
tory any  time,  he  was  often  the  last  man 
out  of  the  building.     But  to-night  he  was  leav- 
ing before  the   closing  hour,  and  Mr.  Peyton, 
his  employer,  was  so  surprised  that  he  inquired 
if  anybody  was  sick. 

"Nope,"  returned  Pa;  "but  there's  a  screw 
loose  up  at  the  house;  and  I'd  ruther  take  a 
whalin'  than  undertake  the  work  I've  cut  out 
for  myself." 

"Need  help?"  asked  Mr.  Peyton,  with  ready 
sympathy. 

"No,  thankee,  Mr.  Peyton,  it's  nothin'  that 
money  can  do";  for  Pa  understood  that  his 
employer's  generosity  always  meant  more  than 
words.  "It's  a  kinder  ticklish,  disagreeable 
business  connected  with  women  -  folks.  Prob- 
ably you  don't  never  have  no  such — " 
271 


OPAL 

"Don't  I?"  grinned  Mr.  Peyton,  ruefully. 
"But  you've  heard  of  the  worm,  ain't  you, 
Flickinger?" 

"The  worm  ain't  in  it  with  me  when  it  comes 
to  turnin',"  declared  Pa,  "when  the  time's 
ripe." 

"Go  ahead  and  win,"  encouraged  Mr.  Peyton. 

Pa  called  on  Jule  and  Mandy  and  Sophie 
after  leaving  the  office,  but  so  expeditious  was 
he  for  fear  of  awakening  his  wife's  suspicions 
by  coming  home  later  than  usual,  that  he 
entered  the  house  a  whole  half -hour  early. 

"Heavens  and  earth!  What  're  you  doin' 
at  this  time  of  day  ?  Supper's  scurcely  thought 
of  yit.  Did  Mr.  Peyton  give  you  the  bounce?" 
demanded  Ma. 

"Nobody's  bounced,"  returned  Pa. 

"Then  where's  your  pain?" 

"I  ain't  sick,"  denied  Pa,  crossly. 

"It's  the  heat.  Aha,  you've  gotta  touch  of 
the  sun.  If  you'd  'a'  wore  a  grape  leaf  in  your 
hat  like  I  always  wanted  you  to,  you  wouldn't 
'a*  got  it.  When  did  it  take  you?" 

"Nothin's  took  me,"  returned  Pa,  exasperated ; 
"I  jest  happened  to  come  in  a  leetle  early — 
that's  all,"  and  he  hurried  guiltily  to  the  barn. 

Sunday  afternoon  Pa  sat  reading  his  paper  in 
272 


OPAL 

the  sitting-room  and  secretly  listening  for  the 
arrival  of  company. 

"I  dunno  whatever  I  bought  that  there  great 
watermelon  for,"  worried  his  wife. 

"Probably  you  bought  it  to  eat — folks  gener- 
ally does,"  observed  her  husband. 

' '  But  it's  too  big  for  our  family,  it  '11  spile  afore 
it's  all  et.  Sometimes  I  think  I  ain't  got  no 
forethought  at  all,"  she  blamed  herself. 

Opal  sat  alone,  up -stairs;  on  her  ringer  dimly 
glowed  the  opal  that  she  seldom  wore  except 
in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room.  She  had  written 
to  Sefton ;  but  she  had  received  no  letter  in  reply. 
And  though  she  had  endeavored  to  reconcile 
herself  to  her  monotonous  life,  it  seemed  harder 
than  ever. 

She  had  a  secret  hope  that  Sefton  would  defy 
her  mother  and  come  to  see  her;  but  as  time 
passed  she  began  to  fear  that  he  would  not  come. 
And  she  had  only  the  memory  of  the  wonderful 
afternoon  at  St.  Joe,  and  the  ring,  to  cheer  her. 
But  even  the  changing  colors  of  the  ring  seemed 
paler  than  usual,  and  Opal,  who  knew  so  little 
of  precious  stones,  wondered  if  it  were  fading. 

An  energetic  step  pounded  on  the  porch. 
"Well,  Ma  and  Pa,  how's  everything  ?"  demanded 
Jule,  bursting  into  the  house.  She  was  dressed 
273 


OPAL 

in  a  stiffly  starched  white  shirtwaist  that  had 
been  generously  blued,  and  a  black  skirt  whose 
broad  band  was  plainly  visible  for  an  inch  or  so 
above  her  narrow,  shiny,  vermilion  leather  belt. 
About  her  neck  was  a  crocheted  collar  that  had 
been  recently  finished  but  never  ironed.  ' '  How's 
everything?"  repeated  Jule. 

"All  right,  so  fur's  I  know;  only  I've  bought 
a  melon  twict  as  big  as  all  outdoors,"  Ma  told  her. 

"What  'd  it  cost?"  demanded  Jule,  throwing 
herself  into  a  rocker  and  fanning  her  heated  face 
with  her  immense  hat  whose  straw  sails  creaked 
with  the  motion. 

"Seventeen  cents." 

"Aw,  listen  to  that!    You  was  cheated,  Ma!" 

"I  guess  I  know  it,"  admitted  her  mother 
bitterly.  "What  've  you  got  toggled  onto  your 
neck?" 

"My  new  Dutch  collar." 

"It  needs  doin'  up,"  said  Ma.  "Where's  them 
twinses  ?" 

"They  went  out  to  the  barn  to  hunt  for  aigs. 
Will  they  break  their  necks  out  there,  I  wonder  ?" 
said  Jule,  apparently  unmoved  by  the  thought. 

"No,  Jed's  there,"  Ma  assured  her. 

"William  and  me  was  takin'  a  walk,  and  we 
thought  we'd  jest  drop  in,"  panted  a  voice  that 
274 


OPAL 

belonged  to  Mandy  Fanner,  as  she  opened  the 
screen  door  to  admit  her  huge  form,  which  was 
clothed  in  the  blue  calico  wrapper  that  Opal 
had  recently  made  her.  It  was  still  shiny  with 
the  starch  of  commerce,  and  the  great,  oblong, 
entangled  white  figures  made  it  look  like  wall- 
paper. In  deference  to  its  being  Sunday,  Mandy 
had  pinned  the  "lay-over"  collar  together. 
And  she  now  considered  herself  as  looking  espe- 
cially neat. 

"Shut  that  screen  door,  Mandy,"  yelled  Ma. 
"Don't  you  know  that  the  flies  act  like  all 
possessed  this  weather?" 

"Well,  land  sakes,  Ma!  can't  I  hold  it  open 
for  William?"  asked  Mandy,  plaintively.  "He's 
jest  behind  me,  and  I  don't  feel  to  shut  the 
door  right  smack  in  his  face,"  and  Mandy  came 
ponderously  in,  followed  by  her  husband,  who 
toed  carefully  after  her.  At  the  same  minute 
Billie  Flickinger  and  Sophie,  who  was  carrying 
the  baby,  entered  through  the  kitchen. 

"This  looks  like  a  surprise,"  grumbled  their 
mother.  "Everybody  find  chairs.  Billie,  leave 
Sophie  have  that  cushioned  rocker." 

"No,  sir,"  refused  Billie,  "I'm  a-goin'  to  set 
in  it  myself  and  rock  the  kid.  Pa,  ain't  Louie 
a  big  boy?" 

275 


OPAL 

Billie  manifested  so  much  pride  in  his  son, 
that  Pa  Flickinger,  moved  purely  by  the  spirit 
of  contradiction,  for  he  was  still  in  his  turned- 
worm  attitude,  replied:  "Naw,  I  think  he's  a 
kinder  undersized  little  rat." 

Billie's  face  blazed  red  at  this  unjust  re- 
mark. 

"Papa  Flickinger  makes  his  joke,"  laughed 
Sophie. 

"I  don't  see  no  joke  to  it,"  growled  Billie, 
somewhat  offended. 

A  faint  knock  on  the  screen  door  attracted 
attention.  "It's  Milo,"  Jule  informed  them, 
without  looking  that  way. 

"Well,  Milo,"  cried  Ma,  surprised,  "come  in. 
Thought  you'd  tag  the  others  over,  did  you  ?" 
Jule's  meek  little  husband,  clad  uncomfortably 
in  his  best  suit,  but  without  a  collar  or  tie, 
came  apologetically  in,  remarking,  "Jule,  she 
said  for  me  to  come.  Where's  the  twinses  ?" 

"They're  all  right;  Jed's  lookin'  after  'em. 
He's  out  to  the  barn,"  Ma  told  Milo. 

"What's  struck  Jed  to  pay  any  attention  to 
my  twinses?"  demanded  Jule. 

"It's  the  twinses  that  're  payin'  attention  to 
Jed,"  corrected  Ma;  "he's  easy." 

"For  my  part  I'm  glad  that  Opal  didn't  git 
276 


OPAL 

Mis'    Hi    Lundy's   school,"    boldly   and   unex- 
pectedly announced  Jule. 

"There  are  other  schools.  Opal  may  git  one 
in  the  country  yit,"  declared  her  mother. 

''Ain't  it  rather  later  than  you  think?" 
politely  hinted  William  Fanner. 

"No,  it  ain't,  William,"  disagreed  Ma.  "I'm 
goin'  to  send  her  over  to  the  school  commis- 
sioner's to-morrow." 

"What  can  he  do  at  the  last  minute?"  Jule 
wanted  to  know. 

"He  can  do  his  best,"  stated  Ma,  energetically. 
"That's  what  he's  elected  for.  We've  tugged 
to  give  Opal  a  high-school  education,  and  now 
I  want  her  to  use  it." 

"How  about  Opal's  marryin'  Seftie  Woods?" 
spoke  up  her  favorite  son,  Billie  Flickinger, 
bluntly.  "Hadn't  Seftie  oughter  have  some- 
thing to  say  about  what  Opal  does  ?" 

"I  don't  doubt  Opal's  findin'  another  school," 
said  Ma,  entirely  ignoring  Billie,  who  stared  at 
her,  too  surprised  for  once  to  retort. 

"Where  is  Opal  ?"  inquired  Jule. 

"She's  up-stairs  restin',"  said  their  mother. 

"Did  Opal  tell  you,  Ma,  that  Seftie  Woods 
stopped  comin'  here  'cause  he  was  lied  to  by 
Little  Butch?"  asked  Jule,  boldly. 
277 


OPAL 

"No,  she  didn't;  but  I  heard  it  at  store. 
Mandy,  are  you  cannin'  many  grapes  this  fall?" 

"And  I'll  betche,  folks,  that  Opal's  a-doin' 
more  than  restin'  up-stairs.  I'll  betche  she's 
a-mournin'  for  Seftie  Woods,"  cut  in  Jule.  "She 
don't  complain  none,  'cause  she's  a  quiet  little 
thing;  and  when  I  says  to  her  t'other  day — " 

"Did  you  say  you  was  cannin'  much,  Mandy  ?" 
interrupted  Ma. 

But  before  Mandy  could  reply,  Jule  continued, 
' '  and  I  says  to  Opal  t'other  day,  '  I  suppose  you're 
cryin'  your  eyes  out,  Miss  Smartie,  'cause  Ma 
won't  leave  you  marry  Seftie.'  I  know  it  was 
a  mean  thing  to  say ;  but  Opal  uster  act  so  high- 
headed  in  that  quiet  way  of  hern,  jest  'cause 
she's  got  a  little  more  book-learnin'  than  I  have 
(though  everybody  knows  I'm  ten  times  smarter 
naturally).  But  Opal,  she  answers,  'No,  Jule, 
it's  all  right  some  way.  I  want  to  do  what  Ma 
thinks  is  best ' ;  not  smartie  like,  you  know,  but 
jest  kinder  good  like  and  sad,  jest  as  she  uster 
be  when  she  was  a  young  one.  And  I've  felt 
streaked  ever  since.  Ma,  what  ails  her  ?" 

"She's  a-comin'  to  her  senses,"  informed  Ma, 
complacently;  "she  ain't  so  anxious  to  marry 
as  she  was." 

"Opal  seemed  a  leetle  blue  t'other  day  when 
278 


OPAL 

she  was  over  to  our  house,"  put  in  Fanner,  un- 
expectedly; "anfl  I  reckoned  it  might  be  on 
account  of  Seftie." 

"Shucks!"  struck  in  Ma,  hastily,  "Opal's  as 
chipper  as  a  grig." 

"I  dunno  what  a  grig  is,"  observed  Jule, 
gloomily;  "but  I'll  betche  if  Opal's  like  one 
that  it  ain't  a  very  jolly-actin'  bug." 

' '  It  seems  to  me  that  things  might  be  patched 
up  for  Opal  as  long  as  Seftie  wa'n't  to  blame 
for  stayin'  away — "  began  Billie. 

"I'm  sick  and  tired  of  hearin'  about  Seftie 
Woods,"  scolded  Ma,  "so  everybody  shut  their  - 
selves  right  up  about  him." 

"Let  Opal  come  down  and  talk  for  herself," 
suggested  Bill. 

"Yes,  Opal  oughter  be  down  here — seem' 
we've  got  company,"  said  Pa. 

"Opal,"  cried  "her  mother  at  the  stair  door, 
"if  you  ain't  asleep,  come  down." 

Opal  came  into  the  room  so  softly  that  they 
scarcely  knew  she  was  there  till  she  was  seated 
among  them.  She  wore  her  old  white  dress, 
and  a  string  of  coral-colored  beads  made  her 
white  cheeks  seem  even  whiter  than  they  were 
in  comparison. 

"Opal  looks  pale,  Ma,"  volunteered  Mandy. 
279 


OPAL 

"She  never  was  so  red-complected  as  some," 
returned  their  mother,  shortly. 

"How  many  studies  do  you  have  to  pass  in 
to  git  a  stiffcut?"  inquired  Jule. 

"Thirteen,"  Opal  told  her. 

"Shoo!"  ejaculated  Fanner,  and  shook  his 
head  gravely,  while  all  the  others,  except  Ma, 
looked  dolefully  at  Opal. 

"And  it's  been  a  long  time  since  you  had  'em 
in  school,"  reminded  Jule.  "And  then  if  you 
should  git  a  stiffcut  and  a  school,  you  ain't  got 
no  natural  teachin'  ability." 

"That's  flatterin',"  growled  Bill,  still  at  outs 
with  Jule. 

"And  the  thought  of  teachin'  goes  ag'in  you 
every  time  you  think  of  it,  don't  it?"  asked 
Mandy,  solicitously. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  hesitated  Opal;  "I  try 
to  like  it." 

"It  ain't  natural  for  Opal  to  take  to  book- 
learnin',  'cause  Pa  and  Ma  ain't  got  no  education, 
and  she  can't  inherit  nothin'  from  nobody. 
And  if  it  ain't  born  into  you,  you  have  to  have 
it  knocked  into  you,"  declared  Jule. 

"And  that  ain't  a  very  pretty  way  to  learn 
anything,"  qualified    their    father,    pleasantly, 
for  once  agreeing  with  Jule. 
280 


OPAL 

"And  when  Opal  was  little  she  was  always 
bein'  kept  out  to  work,  or  to  care  for  our  young 
ones;  and  then  when  she  did  git  a  chanct  to 
go  to  school  every  day,  she  was  so  crowded, 
tryin'  to  take  two  grades,  that  she  got  a  fever," 
related  Jule. 

' '  But  that's  all  passed  now.  She's  graduated, 
and  'pears  like  she  oughter  make  some  use  of 
what  she's  got,"  persisted  their  mother.  "It's 
a  big  thing  to  be  a  teacher;  and  none  of  us 
Flickingers  has  ever  had  a  chanct  to  be  one  afore." 

"Still,  Opal  didn't  learn  much  that  will  help 
her  to  teach  in  a  district  school  when  she  was 
drug  through  high  school,"  asserted  Jule. 

"But  she  went  through  the  eight  grades  afore 
she  ever  tackled  high  school,"  insisted  Ma. 

' '  Yes ,  she  went  through , ' '  allowed  Jule ;  "  but 
you  know  yourself  that  Opal  was  always  a  great 
gump  in  arithmetic  and  grammar,  or  anything 
else  that  took  much  brains,"  she  added,  frankly. 

"Opal  was  high  in  joggerfy,  though,"  claimed 
Ma. 

"Joggerfy  ain't  the  hull  show,"  said  Jule. 

"And  Opal  might  make  a  fizzle  of  teachin' 
if  she  did  try,"  observed  Pa,  unexpectedly. 

"Then  how'd  you  feel?"  cried  Jule. 

"She  wouldn't  neither  make  a  fizzle,"  denied 
281 


OPAL 

Ma,  indignantly.     "Whatever  makes  you  all  so 
contrary?" 

"But  Opal  ain't  cut  out  for  a  school-teacher, 
and  it  ain't  right  to  force  her  into  it,"  stoutly 
asserted  Jule. 

"But  Opal's  a  dandy  at  housework,"  put  in 
Pa,  quickly.  "Show  me  a  young  one  of  Opal's 
age  that  can  sling  together  a  puddin'  to  better 
advantage." 

"And  how  that  girl  sews!"  praised  Mandy. 

"Ain't  the  dress  you've  got  on  a  fair  sample 
of  Opal's  work?"  asked  Fanner,  though  he  knew 
it  was. 

"Sure,  and  every  other  dud  I've  got.  I  often 
says  to  myself  I  oughter  git  a  dressmaker  to  do 
my  sewin' ;  but  if  I  did,  would  it  be  done  as  neat 
as  it  is  now?  no;  I  guess  not!" 

"And  think  of  my  twinses,  every  stitch  on  'em 
was  sewed  by  none  other  than  our  Opal,"  testi- 
fied Jule,  oratorically. 

"And  not  a  thing  that  Opal  can't  cook," 
declared  Sophie. 

"I  ain't  forgettin'  that  cherry-pie  that  Opal 
sampled  me  a  piece  of  awhile  back,"  generously 
remembered  Bill. 

"Bill  never  could  forgit  anything  connected 
with  his  victuals,"  sneered  Jule. 
282 


OPAL 

"And  to  think,"  cried  Pa,  "of  a  girl  that's  as 
handy  about  the  house  as  our  Opal  a-rammin' 
'round  the  country  teachin'  a  passel  of  feather- 
heads  somethin'  they  don't  want  to  know!" 

"And  you  need  Opal  yourself  to  help  with  the 
housework,  Mamma  Flickinger,"  said  Sophie. 

"Well,  heavens  to  Betsy!"  exclaimed  Ma, 
angrily,  "how  you  all  talk!  Of  course  Opal  can 
do  housework ;  she  was  fetched  up  to  do  house- 
work." 

"That's  jest  it,"  responded  Jule,  triumphantly, 
"and  she  was  also  fetched  up  to  tendin'  babies; 
but  she  wa'n't  never  fetched  up  to  teachin' 
school,  so  there!" 

"But  she  could  learn  to  teach  in  a  few  months, 
if  it  did  come  hard  at  first,"  claimed  Ma,  stub- 
bornly. "And  now  has  anybody  else  got  any- 
thing to  say?"  she  demanded,  sarcastically. 

"Grandpaw  Peebles  says,"  quoted  Jule,  im- 
portantly, "that  nobody  ain't  go  a  right  to  put 
their  young  ones'  lives  into  a  jar  and  make  'em 
grow  their  own  way,  jest  like  a  house-plant." 

"That  ain't  no  argument,"  disagreed  Ma. 

"If  Opal  was  wild  or  silly  and  always  wanted 

her  own  way,  already,  it  would  be  different," 

said  Sophie.     "But  as  Opal  and  Seftie  are  both 

such  sensible  persons,  and  can't  help  caring  for 

283 


OPAL 

each  other;  you  know — sometimes,"  hesitated 
Billie's  wife,  "folks  do — care — " 

"Sure,"  encouraged  Pa;  "go  on,  Sophie." 

"Why,  then,  they  should  settle  it  between 
theirselves,"  concluded  Sophie,  quietly. 

"How  can  two  such  feather-heads  know 
whether  they  care  for  each  other  or  not?"  de- 
manded Ma,  crossly. 

"That's  the  p'int  to  consider,  do  they  ?"  asked 
Pa. 

"Pa,  ain't  you  goin'  to  stand  up  by  Opal?" 
asked  Jule,  anxiously,  at  this  sign  of  lenience  on 
her  father's  part. 

"No,  I'm  with  your  Ma,"  answered  Pa, 
pleasantly. 

"But,  Pa,  look  here,"  began  Jule,  genuinely 
distressed. 

"It  begins  to  look  to  me,"  glared  Ma,  "as  if 
you  folks  had  dropped  in  here  careless  like — 
on  purpose — to  talk  over  Opal  and  her  affairs." 

Everybody  maintained  a  discreet  silence,  till 
Pa  Flickinger  spoke  up  blandly.  "If  Opal's 
a-goin'  to  teach,  or  is  a-goin'  to  git  engaged 
instead,  it's  well  to  hear  both  sides.  And  nobody 
is  more  anxious  to  do  right  by  her  family  than 
your  Ma  is." 

"That's  right,"  agreed  Ma,  a  trifle  mollified. 
284 


OPAL 

"And  Seftie  Woods,  so  fur  as  I  can  find  out, 
is  good  enough  for  anybody  to  marry,"  said 
Fanner,  boldly. 

' '  But  he's  so  young, ' '  objected  Ma ;  who  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  that  she  had  forbidden  them 
to  talk  about  Sefton  Woods,  "not  much  older 
than  our  Jed." 

"That  ain't  a  fatal  injury  to  any  lad;  he'll 
outgrow  it,"  allowed  Fanner,  persuasively. 

"But  Sefton  ain't  never  done  nothin'  but 
be  fed  and  clothed  and  sent  around  to  school," 
disapproved  Ma. 

"But  he  can  farm,  he  learned  it  at  col- 
lege, and  then  he  was  brought  up  on  one. 
And  he  owns  a  farm  of  his  own,  too,"  said 
Sophie. 

"But  he  never  earned  the  land  hisself,  his  Pa 
give  it  to  him.  Easy  come,  easy  go,"  quoted 
Ma,  gloomily.  "And  he's  an  only  son  and  he's 
been  pampered." 

"Well,  ain't  there  one  pampered  specimen 
in  our  own  family?"  questioned  Jule,  sharply, 
referring  to  her  brother  Billie. 

"But  Billie  ain't  a  patchin'  to  Seftie  Woods, 
I'll    betche,"    cried    Ma.     "And    such   tumble 
pleasant   fellers   generally   don't   have   nothin' 
back  of  their  smile." 
19  285 


OPAL 

"Seftie's  got  a  forty-acre  farm  back  of  his'n," 
remarked  Pa. 

"Well,  land  sakes!  Pa  and  everybody,  you 
act  as  if  I  was  a-doin'  somethin'  criminal  in  not 
lettin'  Opal  and  Seftie  make  fools  of  their- 
selves.  Here's  Opal — she  ain't  complainin'  none. 
She's  a-seein'  things  now  in  a  sensible  way. 
She's  give  up  Seftie  for  good,  and  is  jest  a-goin' 
to  do  what  her  Ma  wants  her  to.  Ain't  you, 
Opal?"  appealed  her  mother. 

But  Opal  could  not  speak,  and  the  tears  that 
had  been  gathering  while  her  father  and  the 
others  were  championing  her  cause  now  fell 
helplessly  down  her  white  cheeks.  And  Ma 
Flickinger,  domineering  and  prejudiced  as  she 
had  always  been,  shrank  from  her  youngest 
daughter's  hopeless  face. 

Then  Jule,  sympathy  for  her  sister  swelling 
high  in  her  undisciplined  young  soul,  burst  out: 
"Ma,  look  at  poor  Opal.  White  as  a  ghost,  and 
worrying  away  to  a  shadder  for  wantin'  only 
her  rights,  and  from  tryin'  to  do  what  she  ain't 
fitted  for.  Everybody  sees  it  but  you. 

"Why,    Ma,    you    know   there's    no   earthly 

livin'  reason  why  Opal  shouldn't  marry  Seftie 

to-morrow  if  she  wanted  to.     But  she's  too  good 

to  go  ag'in  you.     And,  Ma,  you  oughter  be  as 

286 


OPAL 

proud  as  cuffy  'cause  Opal's  got  such  a  chanct  to 
marry. 

"And,  Ma,  you  was  never  fair  to  Seftie  Woods, 
'cause  you  thought  beaus  would  interfere  with 
her  teachin'.  And  you  know  Seftie  is  a  good 
boy — and  a  well-fetched -up  boy.  And  'cause 
there  wa'n't  nothin'  really  mean  you  could  say 
about  Seftie,  you  found  fault  'cause  he  was 
good-lookin'  and  pleasant-spoken,  and  wore 
swell  clothes,  and  had  a  red-wheeled  horse  and 
buggy—" 

"I  never  said  aught  ag'in  his  buggy,"  flared 
Ma,  hoarse  with  anger. 

"And  you  said  he  was  shaller  and  two-faced. 
But  look  what  he  done  for  our  Jed — got  him 
to  go  to  school  and  educate  hisself.  And  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Seftie  Woods,  Jed  'd  'a'  been 
as  big  a  gump  to-day  as  Billie  is.  And  Seftie, 
he  was  set  up  by  your  own  grandson,  Little 
Butch,  and  Fern  Bistle ;  why,  even  at  the 
store  everybody  had  faith  in  Seftie  —  all  the 
time — everybody  said  he  was  set  up  from  the 
first." 

"But  Seftie  worked  me  by  givin'  me  a  hull 
case  of  strawberries — for  nothin',"  complained 
Ma.  ' '  How  do  you  explain  that  ?" 

"I  don't  need  to  explain  it;  it  jest  shows  that 
287 


OPAL 

he  wa'n't  quite  all  words.  And  now,  Ma,  you 
oughter  give  Opal  leave  to  marry  Seftie,"  Jule 
advised  her  mother,  glaring  aggressively  at  her 
as  she  spoke. 

Bewildered  by  Jule's  tirade  and  influenced 
by  the  family's  sympathy  for  Opal,  Ma  Flick- 
inger  turned  a  dazed,  anxious  face  upon  her 
husband  in  this  time  of  trouble  and  uncertainty, 
inquiring  meekly,  "What  say,  Pa?" 

"I  say  jest  what  you'll  say,"  answered  her 
husband,  carefully  choosing  his  words,  "when 
you've  had  time  to  think  it  over,  that  Opal's 
the  one  to  decide  what  she's  goin'  to  do.  And 
Opal  won't  want  to  do  nothin'  that  you  don't 
stand  for,  Ma.  But  I'd  like  to  hear  what 
William  Fanner's  got  to  say,  for  William  had 
considerable  experience  trompin'  clean  home 
from  Klondike." 

"I've  got  this  to  say,"  struck  in  Fanner, 
quickly,  as  if  he  had  learned  his  part  in  this 
dialogue,  "that  I  thinks  Mrs.  Flickinger  always 
has  it  about  right ;  and  I  know  she  wants  to  do 
the  best  thing  for  Opal,  and  I'm  sure  that  she 
won't  be  ag'in  the  marriage  when  she  thinks  it 
over." 

"That's  what  I  say,  Fanner,  we  sticks  by 
what  Ma  wants — she'll  see  it  through  all  right — 
288 


OPAL 

leave  it  all  to  Ma,"  cried  Opal's  father,  with 
elaborate  heartiness. 

"Yes,"  cried  Jule,  boldly,  "after  you  and 
Fanner  have  soft-soaped  Ma  into  thinkin'  she's 
willin'  for  Opal  to  marry  Seftie;  then  Ma  '11 
change  her  mind,  and  Opal  '11  be  no  better  off'n 
before." 

"Jule,"  spoke  up  Ma,  with  frigid  dignity, 
"your  Pa,  let  alone  William  Fanner,  never  soft- 
soaped  nobody.  I've  been  considerin'  for  some 
time  whether  it  might  not  be  better  for  Opal 
to  choose  for  herself,  though  I  dunno  as  she's 
got  sense  enough  to  do  it." 

"Then  we'll  all  formally  agree  that  Opal  and 
Seftie  is  engaged,"  broke  in  Pa,  with  suspicious 
haste;  "and  we'll  tell  Fairy  Jones,  and  then 
the  hull  county  '11  know  it." 

Opal  was  so  dazed  that  she  did  not  know  what 
to  say;  but  the  tears  ran  helplessly  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Nothin'  to  bawl  about,"  declared  Jule, 
heroically  winking  her  own  eyes  to  keep  the 
tears  back.  "Land,  here's  company  comin'! 
I  wonder  who  it  is  ?" 

It  was  Sefton  Woods,  summoned  by  telephone 
the  day  before  to  appear  at  the  Flickingers  at 
about  four  o'clock  if  he  wanted  to  hear  "sum- 
289 


OPAL 

mat"  to  his  advantage.     Further  than  this  Mr. 
Flickinger  had  not  explained. 

"Story-book  endin'!"  shouted  Pa,  bounding 
to  the  door  and  half  pulling  Sefton  Woods  into 
the  room,  while  the  Flickingers  looked  on  with 
astonishment. 

Into  this  emotional  confusion  walked  Jed, 
faithfully  followed  by  the  twins,  to  whose 
blue  worsted  clothes  clung  straws  and  wisps 
of  hay  which  showed  where  they  had  been. 
And  Jed  stared  to  see  his  old  friend,  Sefton 
Woods,  from  whom  he  had  been  so  long  es- 
tranged. 

Then  Sefton  went  straight  to  Jed,  as  if  there 
had  never  been  the  shadow  of  a  misunderstand- 
ing between  them,  and  said,  "Jed,  what's  the 
meaning  of  this?" 

At  the  familiar  sound  of  Sefton's  voice,  a 
wave  of  feeling  surged  up  in  Jed's  faithful  soul, 
wiping  away  every  vestige  of  rankling  smart 
because  of  Sefton's  neglect.  And  without  ques- 
tioning Jed  yielded  himself  joyously  to  the  charm 
of  his  old  comrade,  and  answered,  "I  don't  know, 
Seftie,  but  we'll  find  out."  And  the  family 
looked  on  with  varying  emotions  at  this  ap- 
parently commonplace  reconciliation  of  plain, 
homely  Jed  and  his  Jonathan. 
290 


STORY-BOOK    ENDIN'!"    SHOUTED    PA 


OPAL 

' '  Ma's  jest  give  her  consent  for  Opal  to  marry 
Seftie,"  Jule  shrilly  informed  them. 

At  this  unexpected  good  news,  Sefton  took 
both  of  Jed's  hands  in  his  old,  impetuous  way, 
crying,  "Say  you're  glad,  Jed — say  you're  glad!" 

"You  know — Seftie,"  was  all  that  Jed  could 
answer,  and  led  him  toward  Opal. 

But  before  Sefton  could  speak  to  Opal,  Pa 
Flickinger  broke  in,  "Here's  our  Ma,  Seftie,  she 
wants  to  be  the  first  to  welcome  you  into  the 
Flickinger  family." 

"Why,  er — I  dunno,"  gasped  Ma,  apparently 
not  so  anxious  as  Pa  had  assumed;  "you're 
comin'  so  sudden-like,  Seftie,  has  give  me  a 
turn."  And  Ma  grabbed  a  newspaper,  quickly 
folded  it  and  energetically  fanned  herself.  "But 
as  long  as  Opal's  lost  her  school  at  Twelve 
Corners,  and  hates  to  teach  so,  I  suppose  you'd 
better  be  engaged  and  be  done  with  it.  And 
the  rest  of  the  family  agree,  too,  so  there  won't 
be  any  opposition  left  now. 

"And,  Seftie,  can't  you  stay  to  supper?  I'd 
dearly  love  to  have  you,"  invited  Ma,  warming 
to  Sefton  more  and  more,  and  determined  to 
do  her  whole  duty  now  that  it  had  been  thrust 
upon  her.  "I  ain't  jest  used  to  the  idee  of 
Opal's  gettin'  married  yit,"  she  frankly  ad- 
293 


OPAL 

mitted ; ' '  but  I  probably  will  be  later.    And,  Seftie, 
them  strawberries  of  yourn  done  up  beautiful." 

And  when  Sefton  assured  Ma  of  his  joy  at  her 
consent,  and  would  have  turned  to  Opal,  Pa 
took  him  by  the  hand,  and  then  William  Fanner 
and  Mandy,  and  Jule  and  Milo,  and  Sophie  and 
Billie  welcomed  him  into  the  Flickinger  family. 
And  Sophie,  who  always  wanted  everything 
done  just  right,  insisted  that  the  twins  shake 
hands  with  their  new  uncle.  As  the  twins  had 
probably  never  before  in  their  short  but  despotic 
careers  shaken  hands  with  anybody,  this  cere- 
mony on  their  part  was  purely  perfunctory, 
and  as  hypocritical  in  nature  as  court  ceremoni- 
als are  often  supposed  to  be. 

"Seftie,  I've  discovered  that  my  creek  bot- 
tom '11  raise  celery,"  Jed  informed  his  friend, 
shouting  above  the  babble  of  the  others. 

"Jed,"  cried  Jule,  shrilly,  "ain't  you  got  sense 
enough  to  leave  go  Seftie,  so's  he  can  pay  a 
little  attention  to  Opal?" 

"Every  last  one  of  you  but  Seftie  and  Opal 
come  out  into  the  kitchen  and  shut  the  door," 
ordered  Ma.  "They  won't  have  a  chanct  to  say 
boo  to  each  other  if  the  rest  of  you  folks  stand 
jabberin'  and  gawpin'  around.  Come  out  and 
shut  the  door." 

294 


OPAL 

"But  I  don't  want  them  to  go;  everybody 
please  stay,"  entreated  Opal. 

"Of  course  we  don't  want  them  to  go,"  agreed 
Sefton  Woods,  and  then  he  kissed  Opal  before 
them  all,  and  nobody  but  Ma,  whose  mind  was 
already  on  the  supper,  thought  of  going  into 
the  kitchen. 

Leaving  Sefton  with  Jed,  Opal  slipped  up- 
stairs to  get  her  ring. 

"Why,  Seftie,  I  can  double  my  income  by 
putting  that  creek  bottom  into  celery,"  broke 
out  Jed,  eagerly,  when  Opal  had  gone. 

"Anybody  would  think  that  Jed  was  going 
to  marry  Seftie,  instead  of  Opal,  the  way  he 
acts,"  said  Jule,  pointedly. 

"And  if  your  creek  bottom  '11  do  it,  so  '11  mine," 
returned  Sefton;  "let's  go  and  look  the  ground 
over  this  evening." 

"I  should  think  that  there  was  one  time  when 
Jed  didn't  need  to  drag  farmin'  into  the  con- 
versation," remarked  Jule,  bitterly,  to  Mandy. 

"Land!  here's  that  melon  I  worried  over  for 
fear  it  wouldn't  git  et,  and  here's  company  for 
supper,"  said  Ma,  cheerfully,  to  herself.  "No, 
you  ain't  neither  goin'  home,  Mandy,"  she  cried, 
coming  to  the  sitting-room  door.  "William, 
set  right  down  till  supper  is  ready.  Here's  a 
295 


OPAL 

Chicago  paper.  Pa  gits  one  occasionally,  he 
thinks  it  keeps  him  from  bein'  woodsy.  Seftie, 
I  wisht  your  Ma  and  Pa — and  the  hired  man, 
too,"  she  generously  added  —  "was  here  for 
supper  on  account  of  that  melon,"  making  the 
melon  an  excuse  for  her  overflowing  hospitality. 

"And,  Sophie,  if  you're  bound  to  help  me  out, 
count  the  folks  and  calculate  the  spoons.  And 
then  run  over  to  your  house  for  more  spoons," 
continued  Ma.  "I'd  kinder  like  to  have  enough 
spoons  to  go  'round — seein'  Seftie 's  here. 

"Opal's  such  a  hand  to  have  things  stylish," 
confided  Ma,  which  was  her  idea  of  Opal's  desire 
for  refinement,  "that,  Sophie,  I  guess  you  might 
as  well  bring  over  some  napkins,  too,  I  ain't  got 
but  six  decent  ones  myself,  and  one  of  them's 
lost.  But  I  don't  suppose  I'll  ever  think  it's 
right  to  use  napkins  when  there  ain't  no  company 
— like  Opal  wants  to. 

"And,  Sophie,  we  oughter  have  a  centrepiece 
for  our  table;  would  that  there  hair  wreath  of 
Pa's  half-sister  Lobelia's  mother's  that's  under 
the  oval  glass  case  look  right  ?  It's  made  out'n 
human  hair  of  nobody  knows  how  many  dead 
and  gone  relations.  It's  a  sort  of  mournin' 
piece,  and  about  the  only  relic  Pa's  got.  Or 
would  it  look  too  tony,  and  as  if  we  was  a-strainin' 
296 


OPAL 

ourselves  to  be  nice,  and  thought  more  of  our 
decorations  than  we  did  of  the  folks  that  was 
a-visitin'  us?" 

"It  might,"  allowed  kind-hearted  Sophie, 
suppressing  her  desire  to  smile.  "But  there  are 
lovely  pink  and  white  asters  in  the  yard.  I'll 
cut  some  of  them  for  the  table." 

"And  you  can  put  'em  in  a  vase.  Take 
a  gilt  vase,"  offered  Ma,  generously,  "take  two 
gilt  vases,  Sophie,  if  you  want  'em,  I  don't 
care,"  she  added,  recklessly.  But  Sophie,  who 
did  not  admire  the  gorgeous  gilt  vases,  put 
the  flowers  in  a  clear  glass  tumbler,  and  they 
looked  beautiful  above  the  white  cloth. 

"Now,  folks,"  called  Ma,  heartily,  when  the 
supper  was  ready,  "all  come  right  out.  Pa, 
set  at  this  end  of  the  table,  Seftie  in  the  middle 
between  Opal  and  Jed,  Mandy  and  Fanner  on 
t'other  side  with  Jule  and  Milo.  The  twinses  '11 
crowd  in  one  by  me  and  one  by  Pa.  My  stars! 
If  here  ain't  Little  Butch  a-comin'  in — I  might 
'a'  knowed  he'd  turn  up  when  the  victuals  was 
ready." 

"Aw,  Gramma,  leave  me  set  by  Seftie," 
teased  Butch. 

"No,  Butchie,  you'll  set  between  your  Ma 
and  Pa  where  you  belong.  Opal,  fetch  an- 
297 


OPAL 

other  plate.  Pa,  kick  along  another  chair  for 
Butch." 

"I  won't  neither  set  there,"  denied  Butch, 
rudely,  and,  bunting  Jed  away,  dropped  with  a 
thud  into  the  chair  beside  Sefton. 

"Well,  of  all  performances!"  cried  Ma,  angrily. 

"Never  mind,  Ma,"  said  Jed,  good-naturedly. 
"Butch  can  set  here  if  he  wants  to." 

"Great  lummox!"  growled  Pa,  irritably. 

"Butch!"  roared  his  father,  "hike  out'n  that 
there  chair!"  But  Butch  only  grinned  and 
reached  for  a  pickle.  Then  William  Panner, 
rising  wrathfully  to  his  feet,  grabbed  unsuccess- 
fully across  the  table  at  his  son. 

"Be  careful,  William,  remember  the  butter's 
right  in  your  track,"  warned  Ma,  shrilly,  as  if 
Panner  were  a  cyclone. 

"Then  let  that  kid  mosey!"  thundered  his 
father. 

Butch  got  sheepishly  up,  and  peace  was 
restored. 

Pa  dished  out  an  ample  plate  of  potatoes  and 
cabbage  and  turnips  and  ham  and  gravy  for 
Sefton  Woods;  and  then  spread  his  napkin 
elaborately  across  his  chest  as  if  this  were  an 
every-day  occurrence,  tucked  it  under  his  chin, 
filled  his  own  plate  and  began  to  eat,  keeping, 
298 


OPAL 

however,  an  eagle  eye  out  for  Sefton's  needs, 
but  completely  ignoring  the  others  at  the  table. 

"Pa  acts  as  if  nobody  else  wants  to  eat  but 
Seftie,"  Jule  found  fault. 

"Folks  that  have  knowed  me  as  long  as  you 
have,  Jule,  oughter  feel  free  to  help  theirselves, 
and  to  holler  if  the  victuals  they  want  ain't  in 
reachin'  distance,"  returned  her  father. 

"Sure,"  added  Ma,  hospitably.  "Seftie,  sam- 
ple yourself  a  pickle,  and  then  pass  on." 

"Reach  me  the  turnips,"  ordered  Jule. 

"That's  right,  holler,  holler,"  encouraged  Pa, 
genially. 

"You  certainly  made  good  concernin'  Seftie 
and  Opal,"  Panner  complimented  Pa,  during 
the  general  hubbub  of  talk  that  followed. 

"It's  a  pretty  flabby  worm  that  has  no 
turnin,"  grinned  Pa,  referring  modestly  to  his 
own  diplomacy. 


XII 

MYRTLE     AND     FORGET-ME-NOTS 

I  DON'T  hear  no  talk  lately  about  Opal's 
weddin',"  observed  Jule,  pointedly,  one  even- 
ing at  her  mother's.  "Is  it  give  up?" 

"No,  I  guess  not,"  answered  Ma;  "but  there 
ain't  no  hurry  about  it." 

"I  think  it's  time  it  was  gettin'  solemnized, 
if  you  ast  me,"  put  in  Pa  Flickinger,  suddenly 
taking  an  interest  in  the  conversation. 

"  'Tain't  neither,  Pa,"  denied  his  wife;  "Opal 
ain't  nigh  so  crazy  about  it  as  you  be.  And  say, 
Sophie,"  she  went  on,  turning  to  her  daughter- 
in-law,  who  had  come  in  for  a  few  minutes, 
"that  washin'  tea  you  loaned  me  jest  makes 
the  dirt  fly." 

"It  couldn't  go  after  dirt  no  better  than  it 
does,"  agreed  Sophie. 

"It's  the  best  I  ever  sampled  yit,"  Ma  was 
saying,  when  Jed  interrupted  her. 

"Cut  out  the  washin'  tea,  Ma-  and  let's  git 
300 


OPAL 

it  settled  when  Opal's  goin'  to  marry  Seftie 
Woods." 

"Well,  I  dunno  as  they'd  better  git  married 
at  all,"  returned  his  mother,  grudgingly. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Jed,  aggressively. 

"  'Cause — for  several  reasons.  In  the  first 
place  it  '11  take  a  small  fortune  to  do  it  right. 
And  save  as  close  as  we  can — which  means 
scrimpin'  on  butter  and  kerosene  and  fresh 
meat,  and  twenty  other  things,  and  burnin' 
soft  coal — it  '11  take  months  to  save  enough. 
Weddin's  cost  money,"  declared  Ma. 

"I'll  help,"  offered  Jed. 

"No,  I  won't  let  you,  Jed,"  refused  Opal, 
"now  that  you're  saving  your  money  to  buy  a 
farm.  It  won't  cost  much  the  way  Seftie  and  I 
have  planned." 

"Which  shows  how  much  you  know  about 
weddin's,"  dissented  her  mother. 

' '  But  we  would  rather  have  a  simple  wedding," 
asserted  Opal.  ' '  We  want  a  really  quiet  wedding 
without  any  worry." 

"Billie  and  me  spent  hardly  nothing  on  our 
wedding,  already,"  reminded  Polish  Sophie. 

"And  Milo  and  me  didn't  spend  one  red  cent 
beyond  the  license  and  our  car-fare  to  St.  Joe — 
except  what  the  justice  got,"  testified  Jule. 


20 


301 


OPAL 

"How's  that  for  a  weddin'  ?  Is  Opal  more  than 
all  the  rest  of  us  that  she's  gotta  make  a  splurge  ?" 

"No,  but  she's  a-marryin'  a  well-to-do  young 
man.  And  we're  a-livin'  in  a  different  neigh- 
borhood than  we  was  when  you  was  married, 
Jule,"  explained  her  mother.  "And  Opal's 
gotta  do  it  right — or  how  'd  it  look?" 

"But  Seftie  and  Opal  have  waited  for  months 
now,"  reminded  Jed. 

"Money  ain't  so  source  but  what  your  Ma 
could  squeeze  out  enough  for  a  plain  weddin' 
'most  any  old  time,  Opal,"  said  her  father. 

"But  I  can  jest  hear  the  folks  at  the  grocery 
store  talkin'  it  over  and  findin'  fault  with  Opal's 
weddin'  if  it's  cheap,"  Ma  told  him. 

"If  seven  bright  and  shinin'  angels  was  to 
flop  down  on  our  street  and  give  a  free  song 
service,  the  grocery  store  'd  find  fault  with  the 
hymns  they  chose,"  cried  Pa. 

"Couldn't  there  be  what  you  call  in  English 
'a  quiet  wedding,'  already?"  suggested  Sophie. 

"There,  Sophie,  now  you've  hit  it,"  agreed  Pa. 

"And  quiet  weddings  are  so  stylish,"  assured 
Sophie.  "Have  just  our  own  folks  and  maybe 
some  of  the  neighbors,  and  flowers  from  our  own 
yards,  now  it's  coming  on  spring." 

"No,"  vetoed  Ma,  sternly,  "it  can't  be  did. 
302 


OPAL 

Rich  folks  that  has  plenty  of  money  can  do  that ; 
but  poor  folks  like  us  can't,  or  how  'd  it  look  ? 
To  do  it  right  means  a  white  silk  dress,  an  arti- 
ficial orange  wreath,  a  flowin'  veil,  white  kid 
slippers  and  gloves — no  matter  if  she  never  wears 
one  of  'em  ag'in  in  her  hull  life.  And  it  means 
plenty  of  cut  flowers,  rented  palms,  rented 
chairs,  rented  dishes,  ice-cream  cut  in  different 
shapes  from  down -town,  and  at  least  four 
kinds  of  layer  cake.  Seftie's  folks  is  rich  farm- 
ers, and  we  don't  want  'em  to  be  ashamed  of 
Opal." 

"Woods  ain't  the  kind  of  folks  to  be  ashamed 
of  anybody  that  Seftie  married,"  spoke  up  Jed. 

"Still  we  want  to  do  it  right,"  harped  Ma; 
"and  it  takes  lots  of  money  to  do  anything 
right.  Folks  that  has  an  extra  cent  to  spend 
oughter  be  happier'n  tunket!" 

"But  it  isn't  just  the  money  that  makes  a 
happy  wedding,"  persisted  Opal;  "but  it's  how 
you  do  it,  and  if  you  give  a  good  time  to  your 
own  folks — if  you  can't  afford  to  do  more ;  why, 
I'd  rather  be  married  without  a  big  wedding, 
anyway.  We  could  just  have  our  folks  and 
Seftie's  and  then  have  the  minister  come  up  and 
marry  us." 

"Oh,  land!"  cried  Mas  "Opal,  be  you  crazy? 
303 


OPAL 

If  you're  bound  to  git  married  you've  gotta  do  it 
right." 

' '  But  you  often  read  how  it  stands  in  the  paper 
— 'a  quiet  wedding' — quiet  is  always  so  stylish," 
Sophie  reassured  Ma. 

"If  you're  dead  sure,  Sophie,  that  a  quiet 
weddin's  as  stylish  as  an  expensive  splurge, 
mebbe  we'll  have  it  that  way;  but  it  seems  to 
me  that  a  cheap  weddin'  in  this  family  'd  be  a 
pretty  uninterestin'  doin's,"  claimed  Ma. 

"But  it  won't  be  cheap,  it  '11  be  simple  and 
appropriate  and  fitted  to  us,"  explained  Opal. 
' '  Something  that  we  won't  have  to  strain  to  do. 
We  don't  need  to  spend  a  lot  of  money  for 
decorations.  Seftie  and  I  thought  that  myrtle 
and  forget-me-nots  would  be  pretty  for  flowers. 
We  want  it  to  be  simple  and  beautiful,  and  not 
just  a  cheap  show  that  is  bought  with  money, 
and — "  then  Opal  hesitated,  for  she  felt  the 
difficulty  of  making  her  point  of  view  plain  to 
her  mother. 

"Well,  I  will  say,"  broke  in  Ma,  "that  your 
idee  of  style  gits  me.  You  and  Seftie  set  every- 
thing topsy-turvy  with  your  freaky  plans.  And 
Sophie  ain't  much  better." 

"I'm  a-gettin'  onto  what  Opal  wants,"  ob- 
served her  father-  "she's  a-fearin'  the  expense  '11 
304 


OPAL 

floor  us,  so  she's  a-pertendin'  that  she  jest  loves 
to  have  nothin'  much  a-doin';  that's  our  Opal 
all  over."  But  Pa  was  not  complaining. 

"That's  right,  Pa,"  assented  Jule;  "Opal 
always  was  lackin'  in  backbone." 

"And  it  always  makes  happier  feelin's  to  keep 
well  inside  your  moneys,"  counselled  Sophie. 
"And  it's  for  our  own  folks,  not  what  some  out- 
sider should  say." 

"That  sounds  all  right,  Sophie;  but  I  don't 
want  to  do  nothin'  that  the  neighbors  '11  think 
queer,"  insisted  Ma.  "Land!  I'd  give  a  hull 
dollar  if  the  thing  was  well  over." 

"Our  house  '11  be  done  in  about  a  month — if 
we  could  only  be  married  then — "  began  Opal, 
referring  to  their  home  that  Sefton  Woods  was 
building  on  his  farm. 

"Besides,  there's  other  reasons  why  you 
oughter  not  git  married  just  now,"  Ma  cut  her 
short.  "What's  Jule  and  Mandy  goin'  to  do 
about  their  summer  sewin'  ?  You've  always 
done  their  sewin',  Opal." 

"I  could  come  down  from  the  farm  and  help 
with  the  sewing,"  offered  Opal. 

"You  could;  but  you  wouldn't,"  declared  her 
mother.  "A  farmer's  wife  is  a  natural-born 
slave." 

305 


OPAL 

"Opal  needn't  let  the  sewin'  stand  in  the  way 
of  her  gettin'  married,"  spoke  up  Jule,  "'cause 
Mandy's  husband's  plenty  able  to  hire  hers 
done." 

"But  your  husband  ain't  able  to  hire  your 
clothes  sewed,  Jule,"  said  her  mother,  bluntly. 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  learn  to  sew  myself,"  stated 
Jule,  energetically. 

"You  think  you  will  now,"  allowed  her  mother, 
unmoved;  "but  nothin  '11  come  of  it." 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  Jule. 

"Another  thing  that's  a-worryin'  me,"  com- 
plained Ma;  "here's  you  and  Billie,  Jule;  you 
won't  speak  or  scurcely  stay  in  the  same  room ; 
how  '11  that  look  at  a  solemn  doin's  like  a 
weddin'?" 

"Billie,  he  begun  it,"  accused  Jule,  violently. 

"Why,  Julia,  Billie  ain't  so  awful  mad;  he 
does  it  mostly  to  tease  you,"  said  Sophie-  "he 
often  says  so  at  home,  and  laughs — " 

"Yes,  he  laughs  at  me,"  cried  Jule,  bitterly. 
"Makes  fun  of  me — his  own  sister." 

"You  do  the  same  of  him,"  reminded  her 
father. 

"Why  can't  Jule  and  Billie  drop  what  they're 
fussing  over  and  speak  as  if  they'd  always  been 
friendly?"  proposed  Opal. 
306 


OPAL 

"Sure,"  concurred  her  father,  "bury  the  hat- 
chet without  any  unnecessary  conversatin'." 

"I'll  tell  Billie,"  promised  Sophie.  "And, 
Julia,  you  must  be  ready  to  speak  friendly, 
too." 

"Yes,  I'll  speak  to  Billie— if  he'll  speak  to 
me  first,"  conceded  Jule.  "Though  I've  always 
got  it  to  remember  that  he  begun  it.  I  says, 
'Hello,  Cabbage-head,'  jest  as  friendly;  and  he 
hollers  back,  'Hello,  Pepper-head,'  jest  as  sassy 
— I  didn't  do  nothin',"  she  added,  virtuously. 

"Listen  to  that,"  grumbled  Pa. 

"Then  I  suppose  it's  settled,  Ma,  that  Opal'll 
be  married  in  about  a  month,"  said  Jed. 

"If  it  can  be  did  in  that  time,"  reluctantly 
consented  his  mother.  "And  I  don't  care  how 
otherwise  quiet  you're  goin'  to  have  it,  but 
Opal's  gotta  have  a  new  white  silk  dress  and  a 
nartificial  orange  flower  wreath." 

"No,  Ma,  I'm  going  to  be  married  in  the  white 
dress  I  made  last  summer  for  the  Old  Folks' 
Picnic  at  Berrien  Springs;  Seftie  wants  me  to." 

"Hurray!"  shouted  Pa.  "I  always  said  that 
there  dress  had  a  bridy  look." 

"Opal!"  gasped  Ma,  "what  '11  the  neighbors 
say?  And,  anyway,  you  ought er  have  a 
splendid  new  blac^  silk;  one  that  'd  last  you  a 
3«>7 


OPAL 

lifetime  if  it  was  made  up  kinder  plain  with 
loose  sleeves  and  not  too  many  gores  in  the 
skirt." 

"No,  Ma,  I  don't  want  a  silk  dress  at  all. 
You're  the  one  that's  goin'  to  have  a  new  black 
silk  dress  for  the  wedding.  Sophie  and  I  have 
planned  it  all  out;  I'll  make  it." 

"I  thought  you  wanted  a  cheap  weddin'," 
reminded  Ma,  dryly. 

"But  there  is  a  sale  already  going  on  where 
silks  is  so  terribly  cheap,"  supplemented  Sophie 
before  Ma  could  object  further. 

"And  I  want  Pa  to  have  a  new  suit,  too," 
added  Opal. 

"My  old  alpaca  dress  '11  do,  and  what's  the 
matter  all  of  a  sudden  with  your  Pa's  nice  black 
suit?"  demanded  Ma. 

"But  it  looks  so  cheap  already  for  brides 
always  to  have  such  lovely  new  clothes  and  her 
folks  nothing  but  such  old  things,"  declared 
Sophie.  "Why,  Mamma  Flickinger,  I  can  just 
see  how  stylish  you'll  look  in  that  new  black 
silk." 

"I'm  glad  you  can,"  returned  Ma,  shortly, 
"  'cause  it's  about  as  near  as  I'll  ever  come  to 
wearin'  one." 

"It  ain't  such  a  bad  plan,  though,"  said  Pa, 
308 


OPAL 

thoughtfully.  "It  wouldn't  take  much  en- 
couragement to  pry  me  away  from  my  old  Sun- 
day suit." 

"But  you  and  me,  Pa,  don't  need  to  be  so 
trigged  out,"  Ma  told  him;  "though  it's  different 
with  Opal.  It  kinder  seems  to  me  that  it's 
Opal's  right  to  have  things  for  onct  in  her  life 
jest  like  other  folks — I'd  ruther  tug  and  scrimp 
and  give  her  a  swell  weddin'  than  to  have  folks 
say  we  never  done  nothin'  for  her — 'cause  Opal's 
been  a  good  girl." 

"Ma,  what 're  you  a-chewin'?"  demanded 
Jule  one  evening  a  few  weeks  later,  as  she 
bounced  into  the  sitting-room,  dragging  a  twin 
by  each  hand. 

"I'm  a-chewin'  a  box  of  candy,"  Ma  proudly 
informed  her.  "Seftie,  he  brung  it.  He's  the 
thoughtfullest  feller,  Jule;  he  can't  go  a  step 
without  fetchin'  somethin'  for  his  mother." 

"I  don't  see  what  that's  got  to  do  with  you. 
Gimme  a  chocolate — gimme  another  to  bite 
in  two  for  the  twinses." 

"Seftie  got  his  mother  a  box  of  chocolates, 
and  me  one,  too." 

"That  '11  wear  off,"  Jule  warned  her  mother. 

"I  dunno  about  that,"  disagreed  Ma;  "  'cause 
he's  been  well  fetched  up.  Seftie's  jest  like 
309 


OPAL 

what  I  wanted  Billie  to  be,  only  I  never  got 
around  to  teach  Billie  manners." 

"And  Billie 's  over  here  now,  ain't  he?  I 
can  hear  his  blab  in  the  kitchen — so  I'm  goin' 
home,"  and  Jule  hastily  arose. 

"No,  set  down,"  commanded  her  mother. 
"Stay  and  see  Billie;  now'd  be  a  good  time  to 
patch  things  up  for  the  weddin'.  Billie,  come 
in  here,"  called  their  mother. 

"Hello,  Jule,"  said  Billie,  civilly,  as  he  entered 
the  room;  for  Sophie  had  instructed  him  in  his 
part. 

"Hello,  Billie,"  returned  Jule,  stiffly.  "I 
suppose  I  might  as  well  spit  out  what  I've  got 
to  say  first  as  last.  I'm  sorry,  Billie,  that  we 
ever  had  any  words." 

Her  brother's  face  softened,  and  he  was  about 
to  reply  kindly  to  Jule,  when  she  cut  him  short. 
"I  didn't  think  you  was  always  so  ornery  to  me 
on  purpose;  for  as  Ma  says,  you've  gotta  good 
heart ;  but  it's  only  'cause  you  was  so  pampered 
when  you  was  a  young  one  that  you've  growed 
up  overbearin'  and  disagreeable." 

With  a  disgruntled  "huh,"  Billie  turned  his 
back  on  Jule  and  stalked  out  of  the  room. 

"That's  no  way  to  make  up  with  anybody, 
Jule,"  criticised  her  mother. 
310 


OPAL 

"But  every  word  I  said  is  true,"  cried  Jule, 
heatedly;  "but  you  always  did  stick  up  for 
Bill.  I  hate  Bill!"  and  then  Jule  suddenly  burst 
into  tears. 

"The  twins  have  got  on  the  new  clothes  that 
Jule  has  made  them;  see,  Ma,"  said  Opal,  to 
create  a  diversion. 

"Yes — they — have,"  acknowledged  Jule  be- 
tween subsiding  sniffs.  "Janice  and  Jasper, 
stand  up  and  show  yourselves;  turn  'round. 
These  twinses  are  pretty  nigh  asleep  now,  but 
they  would  come.  I  got  along  fine  with  my 
sewin',  Ma,  except  Janice's  skirt;  no  power  on 
earth  can  make  that  corner  hang  straight." 

"Mebbe  it  does  sag  a  teenie,"  allowed  her 
mother,  guardedly,  not  wishing  to  discourage 
Jule's  sewing;  "but  otherwise,  Jule,  you've  done 
remarkably  well;  next  time  it  '11  come  easier." 

"Show  your  waist,  Jasper,"  ordered  his 
mother,  with  increasing  pride.  "Here,  young 
man,  open  your  eyes ;  do  you  want  your  Gramma 
to  think  you're  a  mole  ?  Straighten  up!" 

Jasper,  blinking  his  eyes  to  keep  them  open, 
turned  slowly  around.  His  waist  seemed  to 
have  been  made  on  the  principle  that  his  body 
was  a  screw,  it  was  so  wrinkled.  And  a  great, 
irregular  patch  of  cloth  was  stitched  unevenly 


OPAL 

across  one  side.     "Show  your  pocket  to  Gram- 
ma," further  instructed  his  mother. 

"Did  you  have  a  pattern  for  that  pocket?" 
asked  Ma,  cautiously. 

"No  I  jest  had  a  scrap  of  cloth  that  size  and 
sewed  it  on,"  explained  Jule,  with  considerable 
complacency;  "it's  an  oblong  figure  cut  on  the 
bias.  I  told  you  I'd  learn  to  sew.  How's  the 
weddin '  comin '  ? " 

"Well,  Jule,  I  dunno  as  I'm  much  in  favor  of 
what  Sophie  and  Opal  are  layin'  out  to  do;  but 
I  know  it  won't  cost  much." 

"A  floral  arch  or  a  tissue-paper  floral  bell 
with  a  cut  flower  clapper  to  be  married  un- 
der '11  cost  more'n  you  expect,"  Jule  warned 
her. 

"But  Opal  and  Seftie  are  dead  set  ag'in  a 
floral  arch  or  a  bell  either.  Instead,  Seftie's  Ma, 
she's  goin'  to  send  down  a  whole  slew  of  myrtle 
from  their  garden  to  decorate  the  house  with — 
it's  kinder  stringy,  no-account  stuff  to  my  mind 
— and  we'll  use  ours  and  Sophie's  forget-me-nots. 
And  Mis'  Woods  is  goin'  to  bring  a  bouquet  of 
lilies  of  the  valley  for  Opal  to  carry.  Mis' 
Woods,  she  can't  do  enough  for  Opal;  I  dunno 
what's  the  matter  with  Opal  that  Mis'  Woods 
should  take  such  a  shine  to  her." 
312 


OPAL 

"Nothin'  very  showy  about  them  arrange- 
ments," disparaged  Jule. 

"That's  what  I  say,"  assented  Ma;  "but 
Opal  and  Seftie  want  it  that  way.  And,  say, 
Jule,  I  ain't  any  more  afraid  of  Mis'  Woods 
than  I  be  of  Sophie.  I'd  no  idee  she'd  turn  out 
like  that!" 

"Wait  till  you  know  her  better,"  counselled 
Jule. 

"I'll  never  know  Mis'  Woods  any  better  than 
I  do  right  now,"  declared  Ma,  loyally;  "she  don't 
do  nothin'  for  show.  If  you  know  her  onct 
you  know  her  always." 

"What's  your  idee,  Opal,  of  litterin'  up  the 
house  with  trashy  things  like  myrtle  ?"  demanded 
Jule,  her  mind  still  on  the  decorations. 

"Why,  myrtle  and  forget-me-nots  were  in 
blossom  when  Seftie  and  I  first  began  to  go 
together,  and — " 

"Aw,"  grinned  Jule,  "what  a  fool  idee!" 

"And  at  the  wedding  I  want  the  twins  to  carry 
the  ring  in  a  little  basket  filled  with  forget-me- 
nots,"  said  Opal. 

Jule  jumped  quickly  up,  her  face  glowing  with 
pride  and  pleasure,  and  began  jerking  the  twins' 
toboggan  caps  on  to  their  round,  sleepy  heads. 
"I'm  a-goin'  right  home  and  look  up  some  pat- 


OPAL 

terns  for  the  weddin',"  she  announced.  "Wake 
up,  both  you  twinses,  or  Mamma  '11  slap  you  one. 
Who's  goin'  to  conduct  the  ceremony?"  she 
asked,  as  she  forcibly  thrust  one  twin  and  then 
the  other  out  into  the  night  air  to  revive  on  the 
porch,  while  she  lingered  at  the  door. 

"Seftie  and  I  want  Mr.  Stafford,"  Opal  told 
them. 

"And  he's  the  last  man  I'd  go  after,"  dis- 
couraged her  mother.  "He  marries  all  the 
swell  folks.  And  I  couldn't  breathe  straight  till 
the  weddin'  was  over  if  I  thought  we'd  got  to 
strain  up  to  Mr.  Stafford." 

"But  as  long  as  you've  gotta  go  kinder  cheap, 
he'd  sorter  tone  it  up,"  allowed  Jule.  "He's 
pop'lar." 

"Yes,  he's  pop'lar,"  agreed  Ma.  "But  every- 
body's said  so  often  what  a  lovely  man  he  is 
that  I've  kinder  took  a  dislike  to  him.  Opal, 
you  don't  want  Mr.  Stafford  to  marry  you. 
I'm  in  favor  of  young  Reverend  Strang;  I  don't 
think  Strang  gits  many  weddin's — or  anything 
else — and  it  'd  kinder  help  him  out." 

"But  I  don't  see  what  you  want  Strang  for," 
dissented  Jule.  "You  young  ones  stop  jumpin' 
on  them  steps,  or  Mamma  '11  run  away  and  leave 
you  to  come  home  alone  in  the  dark." 


OPAL 

"  'Cause  he  don't  look  as  if  he'd  harm  a  fly," 
informed  her  mother.  "And  I  always  was 
scared  to  entertain  a  minister." 

"If  you  have  Strang,  I'll  betche  you'll  have  a 
hitch  in  your  proceedin's,"  prophesied  Jule,  with 
her  hand  on  the  door-knob.  "He  ain't  had 
experience  enough  in  swell  society  to  carry  it 
off  right.  I  dunno  as  I  care  so  much  about  my 
twinses  a-totin'  the  ring  now.  And  Mr.  Stafford 
is  such  a  fine-lookin'  old  gentleman,  hair  and 
mustache  as  white  as  snow;  but  he's  as  straight 
and  handsome  as  Seftie.  And  he's  the  only 
old  gentleman  I  ever  really  liked  except  Grand- 
paw.  And,  say,  Ma,  is  Seftie's  house  most  done  ?" 

"Pretty  nigh;  but  it's  the  queerest  planned 
house,  no  parlor,  only  a  livin'-room  bigger'n  all 
outdoors.  And,  listen,  they're  goin'  to  have  a 
bran  new  piano!" 

"And  I'm  going  to  take  music  lessons,"  Opal 
happily  informed  Jule. 

"Huh!  You're  so  old  that  you'll  make  a 
boggle  of  it,"  Jule  discouraged  her  sister.  "Be- 
sides, Seftie  hisself  plays.  And — oh  yes,  Fairy 
Jones  ast  me  to  ast  you,  Opal,  was  you  goin' 
to  have  any  out-of-town  guests?" 

"What's  it  to  her?"  demanded  Ma,  crossly. 
"Tell  her  we  was,  but  we  ain't." 

an 


OPAL 

"We  wrote  to  sister  El  vie,  but  she  can't  come. 
Beulah's  been  exposed  to  the  mumps,  and  the 
baby —  Opal  was  telling  her. 

"That's  jest  like  Elvie,"  complained  Jule. 
"But  what  about  Aunt  Lobelia?" 

"Your  Pa's  half-sister  Lobelia  was  ast,  and 
I  was  scart  to  death  for  fear  she'd  think  it  her 
duty  to  come.  She  lives  in  Chicago  and  prob- 
ably puts  on  untold  agony.  But  I  jest  got  a 
lovely  letter  from  Lobelia,  sayin'  she  was  tumble 
sorry  but  she  couldn't  come  on  so  short  a  notice, 
as  she  keeps  boarders,  and  help  is  scarce," 
said  Ma. 

"Jest  an  excuse,"  criticised  Jule. 

"But  a  great  relief  to  me  whatever  it  was," 
vowed  Ma. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  the  wedding,  Ma 
worried  over  every  detail.  And  Opal  was  grate- 
ful to  Sophie,  who  turned  all  their  simple  house- 
hold plans  into  pleasing  results.  The  common- 
place struggles  of  Opal's  cramped  little  home 
no  longer  annoyed  her,  and  no  thought  of  the 
future  responsibilities  that  would  rest  upon  her 
shoulders  came  to  vex  her.  For  once  this  wist- 
ful child  of  the  poor  was  perfectly  happy. 

"I  never  saw  two  such  feather-heads,"  com- 
plained her  mother  after  vainly  trying  to  interest 
316 


OPAL 

Opal  and  Sefton  in  the  superiority  of  rented 
chairs  over  their  old  worn  ones.  "They  ain't 
got  no  idee  of  the  vital  things  of  life.  They 
don't  care  whether  their  weddin'  is  swell  or  not." 

On  Opal's  wedding  morning  the  May  sky  bent, 
a  perfect  arch  of  blue,  above  the  Flickingers' 
humble  home,  and  the  sun  shone  brightly 
through  the  snowy  curtains.  Inside  the  house 
unwonted  order  and  neatness  reigned,  and  the 
plain  little  rooms  were  made  attractive  with 
flowers  and  house  plants.  Two  long  tables  in  the 
sitting-room  were  covered  with  white  cloths 
and  set  with  the  best  dishes  of  all  the  family, 
and  brightened  by  bouquets  of  forget-me-nots 
and  lilies  of  the  valley  in  inexpensive  vases  that 
sparkled  in  honest  emulation  of  cut  glass. 

And  Ma  Flickinger  in  her  black  silk  dress  and 
starched  white  apron  was  so  overawed  by  the 
occasion  as  to  be  almost  unmindful  of  her  new 
gown,  yet  because  of  it  enjoying  herself  all  the 
more. 

"If  we  was  slicked  up  and  pretty  like  this 
all  the  time,  I  don't  believe  I'd  git  so  tired  every 
day,"  declared  Ma.  "I  dunno  how  Sophie  ever 
managed  it." 

It  was  just  a  neighborhood  and  family  party 
that  assembled  that  forenoon  at  the  Flickingers'. 

21  i 


OPAL 

Fairy  Jones  was  there,  dressed  in  pale  green  with 
dark-blue  bows,  a  multiplicity  of  puffs  and  rolls 
surmounting  her  enormous  pompadour,  and 
closely  attended  by  Little  Butch  Fanner,  whose 
high  collar  had  never  been  more  of  a  menace  to 
his  life,  and  whose  presence  was  pervaded  by  an 
odorous  aura  of  cheap  perfumery.  Butch  and 
Fairy  divided  their  time  between  looking  at  the 
modest  wedding  presents  on  the  parlor  table, 
estimating  and  disputing  as  to  their  cost,  lifting 
them  and  remarking  as  to  their  suitability,  and 
making  surreptitious  visits  to  the  pantry  to 
snatch  bits  of  cake  and  steal  forbidden  tastes 
of  ice-cream. 

And  Willie  Briggs  was  also  there,  his  chubby 
face  as  smug  and  rosy  as  ever;  but  he  looked 
conspicuously  solemn,  and  the  neat  folds  of  a 
snowy  handkerchief  showed  from  the  top  of  his 
breast-pocket,  as  if  it  had  been  filed  away  for  the 
receipt  of  tears;  for  Willie  had  cared  a  good 
deal  for  Opal  in  his  high-minded  way.  And  the 
year's  school-teaching  had  taken  more  out  of 
Willie  than  he  had  anticipated  that  it  would. 
He  had  been  obliged  to  whip  several  boys,  and 
his  previously  formed  pedagogical  notions  had 
been  revolutionized ;  and  Willie  had  not  been  a 
success  till  he  discarded  most  of  his  carefully 


OPAL 

memorized  platitudinous  maxims  of  conduct 
and  came  down  to  common  sense. 

Grandpa  Peebles  was  an  honored  guest.  He 
wore  a  white  tie;  and  an  old-fashioned  cinna- 
mon rose  bloomed  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  anti- 
quated best  black  coat.  He  sat  on  the  lounge, 
which  had  been  moved  into  the  spare  bedroom 
to  make  place  for  an  extra  table  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  on  either  side  of  him  sat  a  twin. 
Milo,  their  father,  lounged  inconsequentially  in 
the  doorway,  chewing  a  broom  straw  for  moral 
support,  and  blocking  the  way  should  the  twins 
try  to  escape;  for  they  had  been  relegated  to 
this  seemingly  obscure  location  before  the  cere- 
mony, so  that  they  might  burst  for  the  first 
time  in  all  their  finery  on  the  guests  when  they 
advanced  to  carry  the  ring. 

The  twins  were  both  in  white,  and  the  sailor 
dress  of  Janice  and  the  sailor  suit  of  Jasper  had 
been  starched  stiff  by  the  unpractised  hand  of 
Jule,  till  they  ballooned  in  bulging  folds  about 
the  twins'  plump  legs.  And  these  new  clothes 
were  so  much  too  large  for  them  that  they  looked 
more  like  clumsily  dressed  paper  dolls  than  live 
children.  They  each  wore  an  immense  pink 
polka-dot  bow  tied  in  flat  folds  under  the  chin. 
The  twins'  hair  hung  in  moist,  squarish  curls, 


OPAL 

and  each  clutched  the  prim  square  of  a  purple- 
rimmed  handkerchief.  For  the  twins  were  as 
elaborately  and  elegantly  gotten  up  as  possible 
on  account  of  their  exalted  office  as  ring-bearers. 

The  ceremony  was  to  be  performed  at  noon 
by  the  Rev.  Wilbur  Strang,  chiefly  because  Ma 
Flickinger  thought  him  to  be  the  least  formidable 
socially  of  any  minister  in  town. 

The  guests  had  come,  and  the  house  was  a-buzz 
with  quiet  conversation.  Jed  looked  almost 
as  happy  as  if  he  himself  were  about  to  be 
married.  Pa,  as  unhurried  as  usual,  was  agree- 
ably conscious  of  his  new  suit,  and  wholly 
dependent  on  Ma  as  far  as  the  responsibility 
of  entertaining  was  concerned.  Billie,  with  a 
gorgeous  red  and  yellow  tulip  in  his  buttonhole, 
was  standing  guard  at  the  front  door  to  usher 
in  the  minister.  Opal  was  up-stairs  with  Sophie. 

Sefton  Woods  and  his  father  and  mother  had 
been  there  for  hours.  Mrs.  Woods,  who  was 
ample  of  form  and  pleasant-faced,  was  what  Ma 
called  "a  comfortable  body";  and  Ma  noticed, 
not  without  secret  satisfaction,  that  the  sleeves 
in  Mrs.  Woods'  black  silk  dress  were  not  of  as 
recent  a  style  as  her  own.  Mr.  Woods  looked 
just  like  Seftie,  except  that  he  had  a  beard,  Ma 
said.  And  when  she  found  Pa  and  Mr.  Woods 
320 


OPAL 

deep  in  the  discussion  of  the  tariff,  and  heard 
such  unintelligible  words  as  "the  ultimate  con- 
sumer" glibly  repeated  by  Pa,  she  felt  that 
everything  was  as  it  should  be,  only  the  minister 
was  a  little  late. 

But  as  time  passed  and  the  Rev.  Wilbur 
Strang  did  not  come,  Ma  grew  more  and  more 
excited.  "It's  seventeen  minutes  after  twelve, 
and  the  minister  ain't  here  yit,"  cried  Ma  to  Jule 
in  the  kitchen.  "Whatever  does  it  mean  ?" 

"I  didn't  expect  Reverend  Strang  to  git  here 
on  time  or  to  do  it  right  when  he  did  git  here," 
complained  Jule,  who  wore  a  dress  of  cream- 
colored  cheese-cloth,  adorned  with  cascades  of 
crocheted  lace,  which  she  herself  had  made  for 
the  occasion. 

"Jule,  that  dress  is  tumble  nobby,"  admired 
her  mother;  "but  you've  gotta  be  careful  and 
not  muss  it,  for  it's  goin'  to  be  awful  hard  to 
wash  and  iron  with  all  that  lace  boggled  onto  it." 

As  the  kitchen  clock  solemnly  measured  off 
the  time,  Ma  Flickinger  became  more  and  more 
wrought  up.  "I  always  knowed  that  Opal 
oughter  not  marry  Seftie  Woods,  but  I  was 
teased  over.  And  I'm  goin'  to  call  this  weddin' 
off,"  she  hastily  decided.  ' ' Send  Seftie  in  here." 

The  family,  astonished  and  alarmed  at  Ma's 
321 


OPAL 

resolution  to  stop  the  wedding,  crowded  into 
the  small  kitchen  after  Opal  and  Sefton,  who 
had  been  hastily  summoned,  Billie  carefully 
shutting  the  door. 

"Call  it  off!"  echoed  Sefton  Woods  in  amaze- 
ment. "We'll  get  another  minister.  What  do 
we  care  who  marries  us?" 

"That's  the  stuff,"  approved  Pa,  who,  though 
taking  no  initiative  in  the  matter  of  getting  an- 
other minister,  could  admire  it  in  some  one  else. 

Jule  looked  at  Opal,  who,  radiant  with  a  quiet 
happiness,  was  for  once  completely  impervious 
to  her  mother's  influence,  and  then  at  Sefton, 
undaunted  and  determined.  "Opal  don't  need 
no  backbone,"  remarked  Jule,  suddenly,  as  if 
speaking  to  herself,  "seein'  Seftie's  got  so  much 
of  it  hisself.  He'll  take  care  of  Opal." 

"Who  said  he  wouldn't,"  glared  Ma,  turning 
angrily  on  Jule.  "But  the  weddin'  dinner,  do 
you  folks  think  that  can  wait  till  doomsday?" 

"Then  let's  eat  it  now,  and  get  married  after- 
ward," offered  her  future  son-in-law,  with  a  fine 
regard  for  convention. 

"It  can't  be  did,"  refused  Ma,  firmly. 

"I  wa'n't  expectin'  nothin'  but  a  mix-up  if 
you  got  Reverend  Strang,"  observed  Jule,  with 
gloomy  delight. 

322 


OPAL 

"And  how  does  the  folks  in  the  front  room 
feel?"  complained  Ma.  "And  who  knows  but 
what  they're  makin'  slightin'  remarks  about 
every  tarnal  thing  in  sight.  If  Reverend  Strang 
does  come  now  this  delay  has  took  away  all  the 
solemnness  that  oughter  go  alongside  a  weddin'. 
Pa,  why  don't  you  do  somethin'  ?" 

"What  can  a  feller  do  but  wait?"  asked  Pa, 
philosophically.  "Jed's  out  now  in  Mr.  Peyton's 
automobile  a-scourin'  the  two  towns  for  a  min- 
ister. Keep  cool,  Old  Woman.  They'll  run 
down  summat!" 

"We  want  to  stand  dup,"  teased  the  twins  in 
chorus,  who  during  the  family  conference  had 
escaped  from  temporary  bondage  in  the  bedroom. 

"Nobody  gits  to  stand  up,  the  way  it  looks 
now,"  Jule  told  them,  crossly. 

"Gramma,  Gramma,  ain't  we  goin'  to  stand 
dup?"  harped  the  twins,  pulling  at  their  grand- 
mother's dress  to  attract  her  attention. 

"Land  o'  livin'!  Jule,  cuff  them  twinses  or 
they'll  drive  me  daft!" 

"They  was  promised  to  stand  up  with  Opal, 
and  they  wants  to  do  it,"  claimed  Jule,  aggriev- 
edly.  "Besides,  they  was  practised  forty  times 
a  day  for  a  month,  and  they  naturally  wants  to 
do  their  parts." 

323 


OPAL 

"I  dunno  how  they  ever  got  loose,"  complained 
Ma,  querulously.  "I  told  Milo  to  watch  the  door." 

"When  did  they  ever  mind  Milo?  And  the 
starch  is  a-gettin'  wilted  out'n  their  little  suits," 
lamented  Jule ;  "and  like  enough  they'll  git  so 
hetcheled  up  waitin',  that  they'll  do  somethin' 
funny  at  the  last  minute,  if  the  minister  ever 
does  come." 

"Ain't  you  practised  'em  on  their  parts?" 
demanded  Ma. 

"Practised  'em,  I  jest  said  forty  times  a  day; 
I  ain't  done  nothin'  but!" 

The  whole  house  was  in  confusion  as  time 
passed  and  the  minister  did  not  come.  "I 
always  wanted  Opal  to  teach  school,  and  mebbe 
she  oughter  do  it,"  cried  Ma.  "I  dunno  what 
to  do.  But  this  I  do  know,  if  Seftie  wa'n't  so 
upstandin'  I'd  call  it  right  off." 

"The  minister  will  certainly  come,  he  couldn't 
leave  you  go  by  on  such  an  occasion  as  this," 
comforted  Sophie,  but  as  far  as  Ma  Flickinger 
was  concerned  her  words  fell  on  deaf  ears. 

"  Butch 's  a-gobblin'  ice-cream  in  the  pantry, 
Gramma,"  informed  Janice,  shrilly. 

"A-gobblin'  ice-cream,"  echoed  Jasper. 

"And  the  twins 's  curls  is  straight  er  than  the 
rags  they  was  done  up  on,"  noticed  Jule,  irritably. 
324 


OPAL 

"Land!  I  wisht  I  was  dead!"  exclaimed  Ma, 
hysterically ;  but  the  sound  of  steps  on  the  front 
porch  sent  her  hurrying  to  the  door,  taking  off  her 
apron  on  the  way.  For  the  minister  had  come. 
And  it  was  not  the  Rev.  Wilbur  Strang,  but  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Stafford,  who,  somehow,  did  not  look  so 
formidable  as  Ma  had  always  imagined. 

Calmly  Mr.  Stafford  shook  hands  with  Ma 
and  Pa  Flickinger;  and  unconsciously  Ma  gave 
a  sigh  of  relief,  for  he  seemed  to  bring  the  spirit 
of  well-being  and  order  with  him.  His  very 
presence  stilled  the  turbulent  waters  of  the 
Flickingers'  "party."  Ma  forgot  to  worry. 
And  Jule  tried  to  resurrect  the  twins'  lanky 
curls  with  careful  pokes  of  her  finger. 

Then  a  hush  fell  on  the  excited  house  of  Flick- 
inger and  on  the  fluttered  heart  of  Opal,  as, 
dressed  in  white  and  carrying  lilies  of  the  valley, 
she  took  her  place  in  the  front  room  beside 
Sefton  Woods,  so  comely  and  strong  and  well- 
beloved  of  all  the  Flickingers.  And  the  wedding 
ceremony  was  progressing  smoothly  when  the 
twins,  advancing  prominently  into  the  lime- 
light of  their  small  world  with  the  basket  that 
contained  the  ring,  suddenly  glanced  up  at  the 
strange  man  in  the  long  black  coat  who  was 
standing  before  Opal  and  Sefton;  then  Janice, 
32S 


OPAL 

the  bold  one,  stiffened  with  stage-fright,  and, 
jerking  Jasper  after  her,  ran  to  their  mother. 

But  Jule,  with  solemn  importance,  pushed  the 
protesting  twins  toward  the  minister,  and,  when 
he  had  taken  the  ring,  she  backed  elegantly 
into  a  group  of  neighbors;  while  the  twins, 
clinging  tightly  to  her  skirts,  were  swallowed 
up  in  welcome  obscurity. 

During  the  congratulations,  after  Billie  Flick- 
inger  had  kissed  his  sister  Opal,  he  turned  im- 
pulsively to  his  old  enemy  Jule  and  held  out  his 
hand  with  awkward  good-will. 

Jule,  gratified  and  touched,  gave  him  her  hand, 
saying,  gently,  "That's  the  way  I  feel,  too, 
Billie."  But  she  could  not  help  adding  to  her- 
self, "Bill  begun  it,  anyway,  in  the  first  place," 
though  for  once  she  was  too  sensible  to  say  aloud 
quite  everything  that  she  thought. 

And  Jed,  being  a  faithful  but  inarticulate 
soul,  when  he  clasped  Sefton's  hand,  could  not 
bring  himself  to  say  "brother";  yet,  perhaps, 
the  bond  was  all  the  stronger  because  it  silent- 
ly united  them. 

Then  Willie  Briggs,  wiping  something  from 
his  hard,  chubby  cheek  (it  might  have  been  a 
furtive  tear)  with  his  primly  folded  handker- 
chief, wished  Opal  joy,  and  congratulated  Sefton 
326 


OPAL 

with  a  generosity  that  was  very  creditable  to 
Willie.  For  he  had  written  that  morning  in 
his  voluminous  and  neatly  kept  diary  that  his 
heart  was  ashes  and  dust.  And  being  a  very 
young  man  he  did  not  expect  ever  to  recover 
from  the  wound  that  Opal  had  given  his  vanity 
by  not  marrying  him. 

And  Ma  Flickinger,  realizing  all  at  once  that 
her  youngest  child  was  leaving  her  forever  for 
another  home,  suddenly  felt  the  bitterness  of 
parting;  and  Mrs.  Woods,  who  understood, 
comforted  her.  Pa  Flickinger,  having  helped 
to  bring  about  this  happy  mating,  was  divided 
between  pride  at  his  success  and  a  strangely  in- 
sistent sense  of  loss,  for  Opal  was,  without  ever 
suspecting  it,  his  favorite  daughter. 

And  Opal,  conscious  of  a  deepening  affection 
for  her  parents  and  her  brothers  and  sisters,  as 
she  bade  them  good-bye,  felt  selfish  in  going 
away  with  Sefton  so  willingly,  and  wished  that 
she  might  have  stayed  with  them  a  little  long- 
er, and  reproached  herself  because  she  had  not 
been  more  thoughtful  while  she  had  been  so 
happy. 

After  the  guests  were  gone,  and  Ma  and  Pa 
were  alone  in  the  house,  for  Jed  had  returned  to 
his  farm,  Ma  said,  "I  can't  help  worry  in*  about 
329 


OPAL 

Opal's  goin'  by  boat  to  Chicago.    I  never  did  have 
no  faith  in  Lake  Michigan." 

"She's  as  smooth  as  glass  to-day,"  Pa  assured 
her. 

"It  could  git  rough  quick  enough  if  it  wanted 
to,"  accused  Ma.  "And,  say,  Pa,  ain't  Mr. 
Stafford  a  lovely  man?" 

"Everybody  always  said  so,"  reminded  Pa; 
then  he  anxiously  inquired,  "Did  I  git  my 
blessin'  invite  out  right  side  up?" 

"Land!  I  never  thought  of  grace  till  we  was 
all  set  down  to  eat,  and  then  it  struck  me 
like  a  cannon  -  ball  whatever  was  you  goin' 
to  do  about  it ;  but  out  you  breaks  per- 
fectly natural — though  polite,  and  ast  him  to 
do  it." 

"And  the  Reverend  Stafford  didn't  wander 
all  over  the  globe  a-givin'  thanks  for  every- 
thing he  could  lay  hands  on,  neither,"  admired 
Pa. 

"He  knew  the  dinner  was  coolin',  and  he 
hadn't  hardly  begun  till  he  was  through,"  praised 
Ma.  "And  to  think  that  poor  Reverend  Strang 
was  a-doin'  his  best  all  the  time,  as  explained 
by  his  telegram  a-comin'  on  top  of  the  blessin' : 
'Railroad  wreck,  detained,  unhurt,  tumble 
sorry,'  or  words  to  that  effect." 
33° 


OPAL 

"But  it  seemed  a  leetle  like  a  funeral  to  me — 
our  Opal  goin'  away — for  good,"  Pa  could  not 
help  saying  wistfully. 

"Here,  too,"  sighed  Ma. 


THE    END 


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